Hidden
by BVB Army 2 Forever
Summary: A pair of dirty hands. A damaged heart. And glassy vision. Hunter has survived only because of his will to, but he figures out how to thrive when he hides behind the love of a boy who is stronger than he is.
1. What Are You Waiting For?

Author's note: Hello, guys! So, I said I was going to finish up my other two stories, the prequels, before I even thought of writing this. But I knew all along that I couldn't resist my two babies, who are now actually grown up, Archer and Hunter. If you've read the first two stories, you know that Archer is the adopted son of Kurt and Blaine, and Hunter is the son of the deranged and psychopathic Karofsky, who is the family enemy of the Hummel-Andersons. This is Hunter and Archer's story! I don't have a ton of time to write this, mainly because I have another chapter to edit, which will focus on Hunter. So, I am really sorry, but I will reply to reviews in an upcoming chapter, so very soon. I haven't even had time to look over them yet. But, as always, I appreciate all of you! I love the support and friendship you've given me since over two years ago. I will see you in maybe an hour for Hunter's chapter, and then hopefully they will keep coming quickly! Klaine on, and enjoy!

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><p>~Thirteen Years Later~<p>

_"__Do you see your new world, Archer?"_ The invisible man whispered away from where he could see his moving lips. The dark image that he was staring at shook a little, and suddenly, it lightened as the man clomped up the stairs, his heavy footsteps echoing through a pair of sensitive ears, which were so unused to the noises of this strange place. A dark hand crossed in front of him, and he briefly lost sight of it before he was tilted up, giving him a shadowy view of what seemed to be this man's hand, large and muscular, with a wrist and knuckles that were powdered in coarse hair. The hand returned to where it had been before as the man stepped into a patch of lightness, his long feet sinking into what looked like white carpet, but was still a little fuzzy to a pair of recently opened eyes. _"It's wonderful, isn't it? This is the living room. Our family comes together in here… but no one is here right now because it's still too early, little one. Do you see the sky out there?"_

His entire being tipped backwards as he was shown the startlingly bright colors of the sky, which was lit up by the golden rays of the sun. _"Maybe I'll teach you about the sky one day… when I take you up there after I build you a castle in the clouds."_ The speaker's hand slid across his line of sight once more, blocking the blinding flashes that pierced through the clear glass. He lowered it to the thing that he was mumbling to, which was revealed to be a small baby as the limited point-of-view turned to it. The baby was gorgeous, if not a little pudgy around his round cheeks and chin, but with the deepest blue of eyes and the darkest red of lips. Freckles splattered his soft skin, a few of them smothered by a dimpled hand that was set on his jaw as he sucked on the tip of his thumb. _"Poor baby… don't nibble on your fingers. You'll make your pearly teeth crooked." _The man chided, tenderly using his own hand to draw the baby's fingers from his slobbery mouth.

Blinking at the pop that sounded off of his smacking lips, the baby turned his wide eyed gaze up to the man who was holding him, studying him with an inquisitive expression. The man, finding amusement in that, quietly chuckled, pulling the bundle of blankets that the baby was wrapped up in closer to his chest. _"Are you bitter with me now? Let's go to the kitchen and see if I can get a bottle prepared so you can suck on that." _The squirming baby was raised to the man's shoulder, emptying the pathway that he had to look at what he was certain was the kitchen door, which used to be white, but had since been repainted brown.

The man headed toward the kitchen, taking the baby with him, and he pushed open the door, giving just enough space for him to see the figure that was propped against the counter. He smiled at the younger version of who had to be his _père,_ no more than twenty years old, with a curvy, full body that had recently started to slim at the thighs and waist. His _père_ wore nothing more than an old tee shirt that had obviously once belonged to his daddy, but had been turned into a nightgown that was now smeared in patches of flour and drops of milk. His coiffed hair was a mess, scrubbed from his sleep and brushed through with white fingers. The man who was holding the baby walked over to the messy boy at the stove, and he briefly came into view as he leaned in to peck a kiss to his cheek. _"And here is my beautiful fiancé."_

Amused, his _père_ giggled at that, scooping raw batter onto a skillet. _"Certainly not right now, crazy man. I think you are just flattering your way into getting an extra pancake."_ After he patted the goo into a small circle, he whirled around and made a kissy face at the baby, who could be heard gurgling with delight at the attention he was getting. _"Good morning, Archer! Blaine, you're just in time. I just pulled the babies' bottles out of the microwave. Would you please feed them while I finish up with our pancakes?"_

_"__Uh huh."_ The man grunted, setting aside the thing that he was looking through. It clattered onto the counter, shaking once more as it readjusted. Seconds before it went black, he saw the back of the man who had been holding the first baby, his tight muscles pressing against his thin shirt as he bent to scoop up another baby, who had been idly rocking inside of a carrier. He got a mere glimpse of a choppy lock of brown hair, and then he couldn't see it anymore because it was gone, replaced by a black screen that was encased within a TV that softly hummed as it rewound the film that had been playing.

Torn between frowning because the tape was over, or smiling because he'd been able to see it at all, Archer pushed himself to the edge of the couch, grabbing for the remote so he could click the TV off. Before he cupped his hand around it, a noise behind him made him throw it up with alarm. "Archer… what are you doing up?"

Whipping around, Archer stared over the back of the couch, his chin nearly brushing the top of it because of how far his jaw had dropped. When he had climbed out of bed nearly an hour ago because of his inability to sleep, he hadn't realized anyone else had risen with him, but there stood his daddy, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen with a mug in his hand. It was nearly the early hours of the morning, and his daddy was never the type to get out of bed and try to function on a lack of sleep in the middle of the night, so he wondered if he was having the same problem with hitting his cheek against the right spot on the pillow, but still not being able to drift off to the feeling of comfortable cotton against his face. Even exhausted, with bags under his eyes and creases at the corners of his lips, his daddy was still a very demanding man with his appearance. At thirty five years old, his daddy still had the body he did when he was only twenty five, with muscular arms and broad shoulders, and a stomach that had very defined ridges. His skin was the dark brown of his Filipino heritage, a trait that was also made example of in his coffee brown curls and golden eyes. Besides the slight bump between his almond eyes, his daddy had a very straight nose that pointed to a pair of full lips.

His family often told him that he looked a lot like his daddy did when he was a teenager, that he had the same shape to his eyes, a very similar arch to his brow, an identical plumpness to his mouth. Archer was sixteen years old now, and he'd stopped growing when he got to the age of twelve, when he reached a height of only three inches over five feet. He was noticeably chubby, with a wide butt and thighs, and a lack of definition in his stomach or arms. His face was very round, framed by dark curls that swung down from a widow's peak, and outlined by highly arched brows that hung just above a pair of big, blue eyes. In the center of his face was a tiny nose that pointed up at the tip, and below that was a pair of thin, red lips that were sealed over slightly crooked teeth. And while his daddy's freckles had mostly faded away by the time he reached adulthood, Archer's had only multiplied, creating long constellations across his cheeks and nose, and all down his jaw and neck, vanishing into the collar of his shirt, where they spread across the expanse of his chest, then around to his back, and down his arms, straight to the tips of his fingers.

Remembering that he hadn't said anything for a few moments when his daddy chuckled lowly, Archer opened his mouth to plead that he would go to bed straightaway, but his daddy stopped him with his rumbling voice, which he didn't raise very loudly because there were people snoozing above their heads. "You were watching those old, family videos again, weren't you?"

Archer nodded his head, feeling guilty that he'd stayed up so many times doing this that his daddy knew exactly what was happening when he caught him in the act. "Yes. Daddy, sometimes I get lonely at night in my room. I know I shouldn't remember him… but I _do._ And it feels off… sleeping by myself. I just… like to come down here and see him. He was my best friend. Part of me feels like he's still there when I see him in these movies… I wonder what he would be like now." Smiling up at his daddy as he padded closer to him, he held his arms up, feeling his strong arms wrap around him and squeeze him tightly to his hard chest. There was no place that Archer felt safer than in his daddy's arms. "Daddy, how old were you in that video?"

His daddy rolled one shoulder, going around the side of the couch and lowering onto the arm of it. "I was nineteen. You weren't even two weeks old when I took that video. You and Hunter hadn't even started making sounds yet. You were so tiny." A smirk suddenly yanked at the corners of his mouth, and he bumped Archer with his shoulder. "Well… you still are."

Archer laughed with his daddy, letting his head fall to his shoulder, where it was held in place by his large hand, which cupped his cheek and smoothed the worry lines away, "You know, I don't always watch videos with Hunter in them. I've seen videos from your wedding day… of you and _Père _exchanging your vows. And I've seen a video of _Mémé_ singing. She was so beautiful, Daddy. _Père_ looks a lot like her."

"I know." His daddy breathed through his teeth, turning his face into Archer's heavy curls. A large hand came to the back of his head, stubby nails scratching his scalp. "Sometimes I wish that you had known her, sweetheart… but sometimes I feel that you already do. Your _père_ took everything after his mom. And you take a lot after him."

Glancing over his shoulder at his daddy's wide chest, Archer reached up for his thick neck, feeling his veins pulsing under the surface of his skin. His daddy lowered his chin, trapping his hand to his warm skin, and he pressed a kiss to Archer's knuckles. Leaning over, Archer fell against his daddy's side, peacefully closing his eyes when his arm pulled him closer. "But I take a lot after you, too, Daddy." One eye peeled open when his daddy kissed the lobe of his ear, making a pop echo through the shell of it, and he turned his chin up to the scratchy underneath of his daddy's jaw. He watched the soft spot under his chin move as he swallowed. "What are you doing up, anyway? Could you not sleep, either?"

His daddy grinned at that question, his arms tightening around Archer's body, "I could sleep just soundly. It's your _père_ who seems to think that he won't get a wink of sleep until I buy him a mattress fit for a queen. And I can't sleep unless he does… so I got up to get him a glass of warm milk. You know how it always makes him doze off." Looking down at the steaming drink, he shook it inside of the glass, making the white splash the inner walls. "I should take this up to him before it gets too cool." Slipping his arm out from behind Archer's back, he returned it to his lap, where Archer wrapped his fingers around it so he could hold onto his daddy. "Get some sleep soon, okay, baby? You have your piano lesson early in the morning."

When his daddy scooted toward the edge of the couch, Archer squeezed his arm, holding him in place, "Daddy, could I come upstairs with you… and sleep with you and _Père?_ Just for tonight? Please, Daddy? I promise that I'll close my eyes as soon as I climb into bed." His daddy chuckled, nodding his head a few times, and he tugged Archer up from the couch. Glad that his daddy had such a soft spot for him, Archer flung his arms around him, nearly making him spill the drink. "Thank you, Daddy! I'm just far too lonely by myself."

"Maybe your _père_ will complain to you about the pea under the mattress now." His daddy teased, hooking his arm around Archer's waist and nudging him toward the stairs. His weary eyes flicked over to Archer's wrinkled face, and he laughed as if he had read Archer's mind. "You don't want to wake up early for your lesson, do you?"

Archer scrunched up his nose, shaking his head, "No, Daddy. I don't like playing the piano. My favorite lessons are with _Père_… when he teaches me all of the dances that he learned on Broadway."

The corners of his lips flipped up, and when they parted, his voice softened because they had gotten up to the top floor, where his uncle was snoozing, and his _père_ was trying to snooze. "Why don't we take the morning off from your piano lesson? We can spend most of the day watching these old movies that you love so much… but I expect you to be on point with your dance lessons tomorrow afternoon. That means no bargaining with your _père_ that you'll make him dessert if you can get out of your lesson. I'll ask your _père_ if you pointed your toes."

Archer laughed that time, looping his arms around his shoulders, because that was as high as he could reach without stretching onto his toes as he walked. "I promise that I'll be good for my dance lesson." As his daddy reached down for the doorknob to his bedroom, Archer raised up so he could press a kiss to his cheek. "I love you, Daddy."

"I think you love how much I spoil you more than you love me." His daddy joked, turning toward him and enveloping him in his arms. "I love you, too, pretty boy." He opened the door to his bedroom, leading Archer inside, where his _père_ was curled up on the bed, idly plumping his pillows. Archer hurried over to his _père,_ who he instantly felt like he was having a childish sleepover with as he bounced onto the bed, making his _père_ squeal with giggles as their arms flew around each other. His _père,_ with the youthful personality that he had when he was in his early twenties, was more like Archer's best friend than his parent, someone he could go to when he had a secret to tell, and someone who would cry with him when he needed to cry. Nothing felt better than hugging his _père,_ who he loved with all of his heart and more.

His daddy, who was standing by the bedside table as he set the cup of milk down, glowered at both of them, "No giggling, both of you. Neither of you might be sleepy, but _I'm_ exhausted. I have to be around both of you all day… you wear me out."

His _père_ wrinkled his nose, turning toward Archer and pressing his lips to his ear, even though he didn't try to whisper what he was saying, "He's such an old man, isn't he, Archer?" Archer giggled with his _père,_ giving his daddy an innocent look when he rolled his eyes at them. "I'm a young thirty five."

Sitting down on the edge of the bed, his daddy grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling it away from his neck. He laid back on the pillows, chuckling when the other two rolled closer to him and plunked their heads to his chest. "If I hear even one whisper, both of you are getting kicked out."

Laughing, his _père_ boosted himself back up, smirking down at his husband, who grinned up at him. "You can have your lumpy mattress all to yourself! It will be cold by morning." He reached over for a pillow, dragging it onto his husband's amused face. "You take the fun out of sleepovers, Blaine!"

His daddy pushed the pillow away, taking hold of his husband's shoulders and yanking him down to himself so he could kiss his pink lips. "Kurt, we've had sleepovers every night for the past fifteen years. You've always fallen asleep before we could get to the lady chats or painting each other's nails… _Now_ you want to have fun?"

His _père_ nodded as if it should have all made sense, making Archer chuckle under his breath. Shaking his head, his daddy pulled his husband down to his chest once more, tucking him under his chin, where he happily nuzzled like a cat that was marking its territory. There was nothing more entertaining to Archer than watching his parents be together like this. Over the past fifteen years, they had stayed absolutely the same, except that they somehow fell more in love with each other with every passing day, while others couples eventually wearied of putting up the smiling façades. His parents were both of docile temperaments, and he'd never seen one become cross with the other. Instead, they were flirtatiously teasing with one another, to the point that his _père_ would stamp his foot as his daddy stole hunks of food from his plate, or his daddy would toss a book to the floor and sweep his _père_ off his feet when he unknowingly dawdled too close to him for him to resist. They bickered with each other about passing the salt over the breakfast table, and, at the dinner table, they spoke of how their days were.

Sometimes, early in the morning, when the sun had just reached its peak, his daddy would hold his hand out for his _père, _inviting him to stroll the gardens with him as he tended to the flowers. His _père_ would often come back in with a bouquet of flowers clutched to his chest, which was vibrating from his quick breath and his rapid heart, obviously because his daddy had become distracted from caring for the flowers with the notion of presenting the prettiest ones to his husband, gifts that he received very well. On special occasions, his daddy took his _père_ out into the city, either for long days of shopping in the smallest boutique stores to the largest malls, or to dinner and then to a theatre to see a live performance. These were the nights when his parents arrived home late in the evening, both of them laughing and hugging each other, unable to let go, and then went off to their bedroom, closing the door behind them and not appearing until sometime during the afternoon of the next day, hair rumpled and faces flushed. But Archer, being a simplistic person, especially loved it when his daddy walked through the door, a special treat in his hands, which was sometimes a piece of jewelry, or a stuffed animal, or a box of chocolates. Archer's favorite part was when he first showed this new thing to his husband, whose eyes always lit up like diamonds, and then squeezed tightly shut as he flung his arms around his broad shoulders, more interested in his husband, who had been so kind to think of buying him this new present, than he was in the actual thing he'd been given.

Archer could only long for a love like that which his parents shared, and had spent long nights gazing up at the ceiling, imagining the color of the eyes which he might gaze adoringly into one day, as his parents did to each other. If someone could make him smile as much as his parents did each other, then he would be eternally happy. The eyes that he always saw, the slightly narrowed, somewhat cynical, but sparkling eyes that appeared inside of his wishful head, were brown, but not just any brown. They were the brown of the sand at an ocean, just after it had been washed over by the shore, freed after it was pulled into the water, where it could move around, but was still kept safe by the endless blue, which held onto it tightly. But, outside of the water, just inches away from it, close enough that it could touch, but not be pulled in, was stuck, just motionless brown.


	2. Don't

"Do you really want to do this?" No one ever questioned Hunter's actions. Hunter had spent the last thirteen years being spontaneous, daring, and a little stupid at times, so hearing his closest friend, Dillon, ask about his motives made him chuckle darkly. But Dillon always had been a goody-two-shoes. He'd been born into a considerably wealthy family, at least with enough money that Hunter had sniffed it out the moment his cologne had whiffed past his nose. His parents were two gay men, one of them an actor in small movies and theatre productions, and the other a maintenance worker at his retired father-in-law's old car shop. He had two sisters, one of them his twelve year old sister who often tried to tag along on her brother's romps with his friends, but was quickly disciplined, because no young girl needed to see where the group of them went.

His other was an older girl, nearly eighteen years old, and Hunter's girlfriend, who went by the name of Beth. She'd been from one of her dad's previous relationships, with a girl named Quinn, who Hunter had only met once, when she came staggering in late at night when he had crashed at Beth's house, only to wave shortly and then topple onto her drunken ass. He meant no insult to Beth, but couldn't help but snigger at her mom's rambling about how swollen her mouth was from the big cocks she'd sucked on, silently comparing himself to the whore that she obviously was, because he knew that he would end up like her one day, middle aged and miserable. Beth had struck him across the face before she rose to help her mom up to bed, clearly not understanding what exactly he was laughing about. It was almost humorous, how sympathetic he was with Beth's mom, who was no more than a slut.

He'd met Beth two years ago, at a party for a spoiled, graduating senior who was only given the finest of alcohols that sent all of the kids drinking straight onto their asses. Bored of shaking his hips at the same girls who seemed to rotate around him, one at a time telling him that he could touch their chests if he promised to be good to them, he'd headed outside to take a drag on a cigarette, in need of clouding the fresh air he might have gotten with the buzzing, burning flakes the cig let off. This was where he had bumped into Beth, who had also been taking hits in between large gulps from shot glasses, and it had been love at first sight. By the end of the night, she'd dragged him by his collar into the back seat of her car, where he hadn't learned her last name, but instead learned how tangy her tongue tasted. The only ironic thing was that Hunter couldn't see a damned thing. As he thought of his girlfriend, who he appreciated for her giving him a bed to sleep in when Karofsky became intolerable, but resented for the fact that she wouldn't hesitate to let him take a bullet for himself, since he couldn't even see it to have a chance to dodge it, he kicked the stand of his motorcycle down, letting it lean against the rough material of his jeans. It probably wasn't right for him to drive this thing. It had taken a lot of practice, but Hunter was good at memorizing things, and he'd eventually figured out how not only to drive it, but also what roads to go down to get to the places he needed to be. He could only hope that nothing would dart out in front of him, but hope had ran out on him a long time ago. People said that Hunter's problem was that he feared nothing, but death was only a hiccup in the long term plan he had for himself. He'd learned the hard way that everything died eventually, but love died quickest of them all, so why avoid the inevitable, if love couldn't even be lived for? It might even be a respite from the shitty life that he was going through now.

Throwing his leg over the seat of the bike, Hunter sat down hard, resting one foot on the gas pedal. He clutched the phone tighter to the side of his face, crushing it so close to his hard cheekbone that he heard the cheap plastic cracking. "Of course I'm sure, Dillon. Have I ever not been sure of anything? Why are you doubting me?"

"Because every time you're sure of something, I can usually be sure that I'll get grounded afterward." Dillon's voice cracked halfway through his sentence, making Hunter smirk with amusement. "Listen, Hunter… there is something seriously wrong with your head. One of these days you're going to kill me. How can you just… not care?"

Hunter's cruel smile widened, "It's called not giving a shit. You should try it some time. It makes life so much easier." Keeping his voice cool, Hunter said to his worrier of a friend, "Dillon, no one ever said you had to do this. You can go home now."

"I'm not going to do anything!" Dillon yelped at him, his voice lowering when he heard Hunter's rough snicker. "Hunter, your girlfriend is already knocked out… She keeps groaning at me about how much her life sucks. I don't know what to do with her… and she clearly doesn't know what to do with herself. You're probably going to be the same way, so someone is going to have to look out for you. What's so important about taking a stupid drug, anyway? You have your cigarettes and your liquor. Why do you need _this?_"

Hunter's face became serious, and his tone flattened, "Don't you ever judge me, Dillon. Cigs and beer don't give me hallucinations about things that aren't there… and the best things in my life are things that aren't _here anymore._ You get everything you want… one snap of your fingers and your daddies will bring it to you on a platter… Is it so wrong of me to want things that I used to have but were fucking _taken_ from me?" Suddenly feeling bitter, Hunter took his anger out on an unseen object, as Karofsky often did. They were so alike that it nearly made Hunter shudder with rage at himself. He'd let it come to this. "And tell my girlfriend to get off her damned high horse. I have a shitty life, too, but I've never cried about it. I won't put up with her feeling sorry for herself."

"Hunter." Dillon murmured, his voice so boyish because he hadn't ruined it with the gruffness that came from puffing smoke into his lungs or chugging on sour beer. "I'm not judging you. I never have. I just… I want what I think is best for you, and I know that it's not this. If you get in trouble, you could end up in prison… or _dead._ Don't you want more? We're starting our junior year of high school in a few days… Can't you clean yourself up just enough to get through the rest of school? Then we can graduate… and you can move on with your life. You can do whatever you want—"

"Says the boy with a guaranteed future in tacky movie musicals. Your daddies wouldn't give you anything less than your favorite role in Grease." Hunter retaliated, his voice sharp.

"You're making mockery of me." Dillon said instantly, making Hunter quirk one brow. "Hunter, I will never be able to figure out if you actually like me or not. You're such a mean-hearted cynic."

Hunter idly reached down to insert the key into the hole, revving the engine of his bike, which vibrated to life beneath his shaking body. "Don't flatter yourself on thinking you have me figured out, Dillon. You probably don't." Smiling against the phone, Hunter pressed his finger to one of the buttons that would end the call. "You left out that my greatest talent is in holding grudges. I'll be there soon. Pull your panties up before I get there." Clicking the call off, he stuffed his phone into his pocket, which was nearly stitched onto his thigh. Hunter had figured that the tighter the pants that he wore, the less hem that he had to trip over. Gripping both of the handles, Hunter tested out the gas pedal, letting his bike drift to the edge of the driveway, where he cocked his head in both directions to listen for the crunching gravel underneath rolling tires. As usual, no one was driving down this road. Only a crazy person would want to live in this dump.

Nothing made him feel freer than those few moments when he first pushed onto the open road, nothing ahead of him and nothing behind him except places he'd never explored before, but had always wanted to. Thirteen years of being cooped up in a cellar did strange things to his head. Despite the fact that he only turned down a few blocks, either right or left depending on if he was getting to his high school or the alleys that his friends hung out in, he always felt slightly freer from Karofsky with every inch that he drove away. One day, he would never go back to that house. One day, that damned house would only be a picture in his rearview mirror. The front wheel of his motorcycle rocked over the same speed bump that it always did as he maneuvered his bike down the narrow pathways between the buildings. He lived in the rundown side of Lima, so it never took him very long to find the alleyways.

As he expected, he was able to orient himself to his surroundings by the smell of cigarette smoke that caked the air so thickly that it hung like smog around his face. Glancing away from where he heard his girlfriend screeching about some man who was groping at her chest when his best friend climbed down from something that clanged, Hunter raised his brows at the dark silhouette moving around in his vision, his best friend's hands grabbing his shoulders. "Hunter!" He shouted, flinging his arms around his thin shoulders. Hunter stood over a foot taller than Dillon, making him stretch on his toes in order to reach the nape of Hunter's neck and wrap his thick fingers around it. "Hunter, _please… _she's really starting to freak me out. I don't want to see you like that."

Hunter glowered at his best friend's face, shrugging him off, "Shove off, Dillon. Leave if you don't want to see me blabbering about how wet water is or some shit like that." Stepping his way over to his moaning girlfriend, Hunter bumped into her legs, instantly withdrawing, and then seating himself beside of her kicking feet, which were stretched across the hood of her rumbling car. He picked up the plastic, wrinkled bag that was full of the hallucinogens, shaking them around before he unsealed the top. A strong odor of bitter acid hit his nose, making him jerk his face away. The lengths he would travel to get away from reality, he thought, silently cursing himself.

But before he could tip the bag up to his face and finish off what Beth hadn't already devoured, a pair of large hands grabbed his, keeping his fists closed around the bag, sealing it off. "Hunter, don't! You really don't want to do this! You have no idea what these things can do to your head. It's _not_ good! I'll never forgive myself if I let you go this far. It already kills me that you smoke and drink. Put _me _above these stupid things you put into your body! I've been your best friend for years, Hunter… Aren't I the most important thing to you?"

Hunter closed his eyes, feeling his grip loosen on the bag as Dillon pried his fingers up. "Dillon… sometimes I wish I didn't love you so damned much." He had to force himself to admit that Dillon was one of his few weaknesses in this world, and had been since the second they'd met in their junior years of school, when Hunter was only fourteen years old, and Dillon was eleven. Dillon had been so awkward around others that most had turned their backs on him, simply because his voice was still high pitched long after the other boys had gone through puberty, and he blurted jokes at the wrong times. So, he'd come to Hunter, the last person in the school who he had left to pester, and Hunter had looked at him condescendingly, thinking the boy dumb for approaching someone who had been deemed spoiled goods by the rest of the school. But Dillon had never judged him, and he'd said it was because the rest of his family was so odd. He never explained why his family was different, but Hunter had never asked him to. And Hunter was a person who could respect another for holding his tongue.

A year ago, Dillon had even become something romantic to Hunter, who had no qualms about gender when he couldn't even see what he was touching. One night, at a party that he'd spent most of with Dillon, Hunter had felt his friend push up against him, and he'd looked down at his dark head, imagining what facial features he might have from what he had told him. It had happened very quickly, when Hunter had enveloped his arms around his friend and pulled him into a closet, pressing a kiss to his full lips before he even kicked the door shut behind them. Dillon had immediately responded with a nudge, but the two of them had separated seconds into the kiss, holding their mouths and staring through the darkness with huge eyes. It had never been brought up again, and Hunter decided that his best friend was one person he had the decency to not try to pursue.

If there was one person who could keep Hunter from doing something idiotic, it was Dillon. Dillon gently fingered the light hairs at Hunter's nape, "Hey… it's okay, Hunter. Put the bag down. We can go back to my place… you can sleep there tonight. My dads won't mind." He heard him nervously chuckle, "Will there ever be a day that you settle down? I don't know if I can take much more of this." Unable to answer that question honestly, Hunter held his silence, swallowing thickly when a few fingertips traced the outline of his strong cheekbone, which jutted out underneath his sunken eyes. He heard himself inhale sharply, trying to draw away, but Dillon firmly grabbed his face and turned it to the side. Nothing undid him more quickly than touch, others letting him use his hands to figure them out, by mussing their hair and sliding his fingertips over their shapely eyebrows, down their quivering eyelids, and against each beating eyelash. His favorite thing about touching another's eyes was feeling that there was no difference between those of a person who could see and his own. Few people let him get that close to them, but Dillon was one of the ones who did. "Hunter… why do you not look at my face? Let me take off your glasses—"

When Dillon's fingers pinched the rims of his sunglasses, Hunter moved so quickly that all Dillon had time to do was lower his hands to his chest, pushing distance between them so Hunter couldn't ram him into a wall and crush him with his powerful body. He clasped both of Dillon's wrists in one large hand, raising them above their heads, as he shoved one thigh between Dillon's weak legs, making the boy completely helpless in Hunter's unpredictable grasp. He felt Dillon shake against him. After years of being pinned down by Karofsky, there was nothing he wanted more than to take control, but he almost felt bad for taking away all of Dillon's ability to manipulate his limbs. Dillon was a young, unworldly boy who had fallen for Hunter's knowingness of practically anything that a case could be made about, simply because he himself wanted to experience these things, but he also wasn't quite reckless enough to abandon himself to a man who lived with abandon. Hunter wanted to see the world through a new set of eyes, but he wanted his traveling companion to not be afraid of opening them. "Dillon, what color is my hair?"

Dillon was stunned into silence by the abrupt question, and then he muttered through a few sounds that somehow came out coherently, "I-It's blond… Hunter, it's blond. What are you asking? Why do you say such strange things?"

"For the same reason that you say that I should take off my glasses." Hunter snapped at him, finally releasing him. Dillon immediately stumbled backwards, removing himself entirely from Hunter. "Sometimes the best things seen are the things you don't see, Dillon." Pushing past his friend, he headed over to where Beth was still sprawled across the hood of her car. He bent down to grab her around her thighs, flinging her limp body over his shoulder. Despite her slender form, Beth was above average height for a girl, but she was still an easy weight for him to haul around. "Stop questioning me. It's annoying. If I don't tell you something, it's probably because it's best that you don't know."

Hunter heard Dillon's wide feet clunking after him when his friend realized that Hunter was going to leave the alleyways without him. "What are you so afraid of, Hunter? Why don't you want me to know things?"

He paused, backtracking only for a second to glimpse over his shoulder, one brow arched, "My worst fear is the color blue."

He could almost see the way that Dillon's jaw dropped, "Can I ask _why?_"

"You can." Hunter heaved Beth higher up on his shoulder, his hand grasping her narrow waist, "If you're asking me if I want you to, my answer to that is no. I'm not going to give you permission to ask questions, because then I'd be permitting you to bother me all the more. The words I say are like paintings in a museum… You take what you get, and you don't ask questions, because the person who could answer them has probably already died of boredom of the questions previously asked of him." At the silence that followed his snarky retort, he sent his friend a cunning smirk, "It's not just any blue. It's the blue of an ocean… in the middle of the night… that foamy water that bubbles at the edge of the sand. That's the blue that I hate more than anything."

Dillon took a deep breath, "You know what I hate? When you know something I don't know. For a guy who flunked the eighth grade, you're really witty. You can explain away your entire past, but you're clueless about the future. You couldn't care less about what happens to you… because you spend all of your time caring about what happened to you. Something I can't know about?" When Hunter nodded, he carelessly raised and dropped his hands, his palms hitting his thighs with a thud. "I kind of figured. You know, you never walk in a straight line."

"You're remarkably observant today."

Chuckling, Dillon threw his arm out and snagged Hunter around his lower back, "And you're a remarkable ass… as usual. Come on, Hunter… I'm your best friend. Isn't it a requirement that, in order to reach that level, we know everything about each other? Can I at least guess at what goes on in your head?"

"You can." Hunter repeated, making Dillon snigger. "Twenty seven." At the strange face that he knew his best friend was giving him, he wrapped an arm around his shoulders, "That's how many times you've laughed today… at least, around me. I've been keeping count."

Dillon leaned closer to Hunter, dropping his head to his open shoulder, "What, are you doubting how happy I am to be around you? I didn't know Hunter… the most confident man I have ever met… could doubt."

Hunter softened his voice, burying his face in Dillon's dark hair, which was cut close to his head, "It's not so much that I'm doubting us being together… It's more that I love that you love me." Smoothing a chunk of hair away from Dillon's cheek, he whispered in his ear, "I think about your laugh a lot, Dillon. It's the thing that makes me happiest… the thing that helps me fall asleep at night, when I'm all alone and the only voice I hear is the one that's telling me about blue. You're here… which is more than I can say of blue."

Dillon's head snapped up from his shoulder, "Hunter, are you colorblind?"

Hunter smiled sadly at his friend, "Kind of."


	3. Raised By Wolves

"Where are you going, Hunter?" Dillon, who had been trotting happily by Hunter's side as they laughed themselves into fits about what was to come of their junior year of high school, came to an abrupt halt when Hunter stepped off of the main sidewalk. "Come on! My house is right up there."

"I know where your house is." Hunter grunted, putting both of his hands under Beth's flaccid form, which had just started shifting as she came to. Unceremoniously setting her on her feet, he kept his hands on her waist to steady her wobbling legs. Dillon was right. Seeing him like this wouldn't have been a pretty sight. "I have to go pack if I'm staying over tonight. Your clothes don't fit me. We've been over this before." Pushing Beth over to her brother, he heard Dillon huff as he caught her body in his unsuspecting arms. "Take your sister back. I'll meet you there in a minute."

As Hunter started to walk away, Dillon hollered after him, "My clothes don't fit you because you're freakishly tall, Hunter!"

Hunter could only laugh at his best friend, who was more insecure than any other man he'd met about how short he was. Going away from the two of them, Hunter navigated the pathway he'd only taken a few times before, weaving in and out of small, wooden houses that were falling apart, nail by nail. Dillon was only a few blocks away from him, but that distance made all the difference when it came to the shack that Hunter lived in, to the two story home where Dillon resided. Feeling his way over to the fence that blocked off his backyard, Hunter swung his legs up and jumped over it, landing hard on the crunchy grass.

He strode across the green field that he knew must have been browning, slowly, but certainly, fallen twigs crackling beneath his heavy feet. As he came around the front of his house, he seemed to smell that something was off about the air, a whiff of cigarette smoke hanging over the blacktop of his driveway. Looking toward his home, Hunter raised a single brow, heading over to it. Long ago, when he was just a child, he used to fear entering this place, but now that he was older, and undoubtedly stronger than the man who used to beat him and throw him into walls and cut him and burn him, he thought nothing of shoving through the front door. "Karofsky?" He yelled, his noisy voice echoing through the empty halls.

From the living room, he made out the muffled groan of the TV, which was once again playing one of those crime shows that Karofsky vegetated over. Crossing through the doorway that led to the main room, Hunter leaned in the doorway, listening to the quiet noises of snoring. Karofsky was thirty six years old, and he'd done just as he predicted he would do thirteen years ago, by turning into a fat drunk who sat on his ass all day and chugged beer. At least he had maintained a steady job at the bar, but only because he had begged his manager, and because no one else was lowly enough to take a job at that shitty place. Desperate as he was for money, even Hunter wouldn't do that to himself. "You fuck up." Hunter whispered, he fondest thing he could think to say to the peacefully snoozing man.

Going over to where the sound was at its loudest, Hunter reached down for Karofsky's face, feeling his unshaven jaw scratch the tips of his fingers. He traced them down Karofsky's chest, pausing at his hands, which held a half emptied bottle of beer and a cigarette that had burnt out. He pulled those things from his loose grip, setting them aside on the coffee table, then grabbed the throw blanket that had been draped across the back of the couch. Spreading it over Karofsky's large form, Hunter knelt down by the drunkard, clasping one of his sweaty, plump hands in his. "I'll be home tomorrow… not that you could care." He stood back up, turning away from the snorting man, and he hurried out of the house.

Walking the same pathway that he always took, Hunter went past the boundary that separated Karofsky's side of the yard from his own, which was safely enveloped by the leaves of the trees and the hanging branches. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, slowing down his walk so he could enjoy the sounds of the trees rustling as the wind hit them, the smell of the greenery drying up as the cold air made it retreat. He wished he could see all of this. Getting to the wooden block that he lived under, he leaned down and grabbed the door, yanking it up. He stepped down the stairs, pulling it shut behind himself, which submerged him in total darkness. Creeping down the stairs, he padded across the creaky floor, getting over to his dresser. He pulled open the top drawer, grabbing the bag that he always kept stuffed for those times when he needed to leave as soon as possible, when Karofsky's temper was too heightened for even him to subdue.

Slipping it onto his shoulder, he reached down for his pack of cigarettes, then decided against it, because he knew how much Dillon's parents hated the habit. When he and Dillon had first started hanging out, his friend had once moped over to him, remorsefully shrugging his shoulders as he told about how his parents had smelled the smoke on his clothes, and had thought that it was him doing it, which had gotten him a long lecture. Hunter tried not to put his friend through that anymore. Instead, he picked up his notebook, the same one he'd had since childhood. It now had its cover taped to it, since it had long since fallen off, and was missing about thirty pages that had ripped out, one by one, after so many times of him flinging it open and tearing through the sheets with the tip of his pen. He stuck it into his pocket, then checked to make sure he had everything ready, going through his bag for a pair of sweatpants and a toothbrush. Once he was certain he had everything in order, he headed back out of the cellar, the brisk wind giving him chills as soon as he emerged.

Wrapping his arms around himself, Hunter glanced down at them, not that he could see what they looked like. They felt bumpy and dented, and rough with old scabs and scrapes. He wondered if he was ugly. The first and only time that Dillon had ever met Karofsky, when they were standing at his driveway and saying goodnight to each other, and Karofsky had pulled in after his day at work, Dillon had gotten a brief glimpse of the man before Hunter had yanked him away, running into the wooded area which he lived with him trailing behind him, nervously chuckling about what the big deal was. When Hunter had slapped a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet, Dillon had licked his palm, making him jerk his hand away, and then Dillon had laughed, claiming that Hunter looked just like him. Ever since that day, Hunter had gone to every length to make himself look as opposite of Karofsky as he could, taking Dillon to the store with him to help him pick out new colors for himself.

Even though he hadn't understood it, Dillon had bought a few things for him, and then taken him back to his place, where they had spent the night bleaching Hunter's hair, spray tanning his skin, and working contacts into the corners of his eyes. While this process was going on, Hunter had been terribly uncomfortable, complaining about how the bleach burned his scalp, and how sticky the spray felt on his skin, gluing his fingers together and making it impossible to move, and how the contacts dried his eyes out. But now it was just a routine. The only thing he still hated was those damned contacts, which he sometimes forgot to take out before he slept, or cried with them still in, or wanted to fling across the room whenever someone said that his unusually yellow eyes were beautiful. Maybe it was just that he hated his eyes, though.

Stepping onto Dillon's driveway, Hunter walked up to the porch, raising his hand to knock on the door. Within seconds, footsteps came thudding from somewhere within the house, and the door flew open. "Hunter." Dillon's dad, Noah, announced, as if he was startled to see him standing there. Hunter knew that Dillon's dads didn't like him, mainly because he was a bad influence on Dillon. Despite that, though, they usually gritted their teeth for the sake of their son, whose only friend was Hunter, since Hunter had never forced Dillon to do anything stupid, and honestly didn't want him to. Hunter liked Dillon just the way he was, prudishness and all. "Come on in. We weren't expecting you."

Hunter didn't know much about Dillon's parents, except that Noah, in some sense, used to be a lot like him. In fact, Dillon had told him that either of his dads had barely graduated high school, and had gotten through it by the skin of their teeth. It wasn't until the end of their senior year, when they had started to get together, that they pulled themselves back up. Noah used to go by the name of Puck, at least until he was married for a while and had started to think about having children, which was when he settled into a life more fitting for a responsible adult. Finn, on the other hand, had always been somewhat more mature than Puck, designating himself as the driver when they went to parties, and advising Puck to keep a good head on his shoulders during school. Dillon said that this was because his dad, Finn, had a younger brother named Kurt, who he had spent a great deal of time looking out for. Hunter had never met that side of Dillon's family, despite the fact that Dillon was supposedly very close to his cousin, Archer, who lived in France with his two dads. Hunter didn't like talking about Dillon's cousin, anyway, even though Dillon always seemed ready to explode with gossip after those few phone calls he got a year with his cousin. Hunter didn't like the name Archer.

"Hunter!" A familiar voice yelped from behind the man who was standing closer to Hunter. Within seconds, a small body tackled his, even though he and Dillon had just seen each other. Hunter had never had someone become so excited about seeing him as Dillon did. "Dad, Hunter's going to sleep over tonight. Is that okay?"

Noah took a deep breath, "Yeah… that's fine. But I want you two to behave yourselves. Dillon, don't end up like your sister. And, Hunter… keep that mouth of yours clean."

Dillon took Hunter's hand, anxiously tugging on him, "Sorry… he just got done disciplining my sister. He has to call her mom to get her to pick her up. He doesn't like talking to Quinn." Yanking a little harder, Dillon made Hunter take a step forward, "Come on! I have a pizza kit in the kitchen. We can make our own pizzas for dinner!"

Hunter grinned at Dillon's idea of a fun time. "Okay… okay."

"The toppings have to stay on the pizzas, guys!" Noah shouted after them, making Dillon snigger under his breath. "Your dad will have my head if he comes home to a dirty kitchen."

"Got it, Dad!" Dillon shouted, pushing through the kitchen door and dragging Hunter after him. Leaving Hunter's side, Dillon went over to the pantry, rummaging through the cereal boxes and cans of soup. "So… what do you think you're going to do for our junior year of high school? We only have one more after this, Hunter."

Hunter leaned against the counter, watching the silhouette of his friend scurry over the tile floor. "I don't know. Am I supposed to do something? I don't have any plan except to just get through it."

Dillon abruptly stopped moving, "Hunter… come on. You have to take this seriously. My dads are already handing me fliers about colleges we need to start visiting. Isn't Karofsky badgering you about your future?"

Hunter chuckled, "Karofsky doesn't know how old I am. He hasn't been right in his head since I was eight years old. Dillon, I can't even afford to get into college… and no place is going to offer me a scholarship. I practically start each year off with low grades. I'm not good enough at anything."

"Don't say that." Dillon started walking around again, and he returned to Hunter's side, a box of pizza dough mix in his hands. "Hunter… I've seen you working in that notebook of yours. You write all the time. You've never let me read any of it… but I know that you love doing it. I can see it on your face. And you paint things. You're really good at that… even if you're just doodling on your notebook in class. If you let colleges see that, they'd take you without a glance at what grade you got in some stupid math class." Hunter rolled one of shoulders, so Dillon scoffed and nudged him, "Can I have this one question, though?" Raising his head to his friend, he stared at Dillon's face, wondering if his expression mirrored the enthusiasm in his voice. "Hunter… why is it always the same boy that you draw?"

Hunter stopped breathing, his expression going blank, "What are you talking about? I paint plenty of things."

"You do." Dillon agreed, turning away from Hunter so he could rip open the box and pull out the dry mix. "But you paint him more than anything else… the boy with the black hair and the blue eyes. Who is he? I'd say that he looks just like my cousin… you know, Archer… but you've never seen him before. You paint him in so many different ways. Sometimes his arms are up… as if he's waiting for someone to hug… and sometimes he's flat on the ground, crying. Why do you paint him with so many emotions?" At Hunter's silence, Dillon wasn't deterred, but instead pried a little deeper, "Is he a real person?"

Nodding, Hunter flicked his eyes back up to Dillon's face, which he could tell was moving, "He was real… at one time. He's a person I knew… before I ended up with Karofsky. We knew each other as children. I like to guess what he would look like now. I'm sure that he's beautiful."

"That's the way you paint him." Dillon admitted softly, laying a light hand on Hunter's shuddering arm, "Did you ever love him?"

Hunter raised and dropped his chin again, "Every fiber in my being… every cell in my body… every single part of me was in love with him. But he's gone now. It's been years since I've seen him… and I'll never see him again."

"How do you know?"

Pushing his mouth to one side of his face, Hunter closed his fist around the packet of sauce that Dillon set in his hand. He really didn't like to have his past, which he'd shut away from himself after that first time that he'd locked himself in his cellar, challenged. "He was like a flower to me. He was lovely… There was nothing better than looking at him, and then picking him up and feeling his fragile, small body. But flowers only last for a short time… and then you just have memories of them. He's just a memory now. That's all I have left of him."

"Every flower leaves seeds behind, Hunter… and then new versions of what they once were pop up. He's still there… You just have to look for him. He'll be different, sure… but it'll be him." Dillon brushed his hand against his back, then left his side once more so he could heat up the stove.

Hunter stared after his friend, watching his shadow fade into complete blackness as he got farther away. And then there was blue, the darkest shade of it, like the ocean in the middle of the night, which drowned out the endless darkness.

* * *

><p>Ever since Archer was a little boy, after Hunter had died, there'd been nothing he wanted to do more than to dance. He didn't know what it was about it that was so wonderful to him, since he wasn't like the other dancers that he saw on the stages of theatres, when his parents took him out for shows. He was lithe in not one way, but clumsy in many others, and he didn't have the slender, tall form of those ballerinas that flitted around the stage like butterflies, his <em>père<em> being one of them. Instead, Archer was short and a little chubby, with two left feet and a chin that often dipped too low. But he still loved the feeling of moving around the floor with quick, somewhat imprecise, steps. Maybe it was the freedom behind it, the fact that he could run in any direction, while he knew, at least in later years, when his parents had finally considered him old enough, that Hunter had been trapped when he'd been killed. Or maybe it was just something he took after his parents, one more than the other, who both went into careers in dance and song, his _père_ to follow in his mom's footsteps, and his daddy to follow his _père._ And there was no one that Archer wanted to be more like than both of his parents, who, to him, were perfect in every single way.

When Archer had admitted to his parents that he wanted to dance on the stage, his daddy had instantly gone into renovating one of the rooms to look nearly identical to that of a professional dance school. Hard floors had been installed, and bars had been lined across the walls, covering portions of long mirrors that hung from the ceiling and pressed on the floor. Archer didn't know why his parents had gone to so much trouble, when they could have easily sent him to a dance academy, like his _père_ had once gone to, but Archer was more than happy with the fact that, whenever he felt like it, even outside of his lessons, he could go in there to twirl around in circles and leap from corner to corner of the small, but perfect, room. This was on Archer's mind as he went through his lesson with his _père,_ who was warming him up for their routine by having him sit on the floor and spread his legs out. His _père_ had once been a famous dancer, his daddy had told him, when Archer was just a baby, far too young to remember anything about the time that his _père_ had gone off to France for ten months to see how well he did on Broadway. His _père_ had given up before he even had the chance to perform, and he hadn't gone back to it, even though Archer could tell that he did his best work when he was wearing his tights and leotard. Archer wondered what had stopped him from continuing in that career. He could see no reason why, considering how badly he wanted it himself.

Lifting his nose from the floor, Archer gazed up at his _père,_ who was turned away from him and idly fidgeting with his leotard in the mirror. He picked himself up from the floor, drawing one of his feet in, and he cleared his throat. "_Père?_ Why do you not perform on Broadway anymore? Why did you stop? You've never talked to me about it."

He could see his pale face change in the mirror, his thin brows furrowing and his mouth creasing. It was a look of distress, one he rarely saw his _père_ wear. Whirling around on his light feet, his _père_ changed his expression into one of kindness, and he murmured, "I will speak to you about it if you stretch your legs, dear." Archer immediately did as he was told, wincing at the way his thighs cramped. "Archer, it's been years since I left my Broadway career. Why do you want to know about it now?" Archer felt awkward speaking to the floor, so he simply shrugged his shoulders, making his _père_ laugh softly. "I suppose I do miss it… but I could never go back. I'm happiest in here… with you. This is where I do my best dancing." He heard him take a deep breath, and then exhale heavily, "I was nineteen years old when I came back to France… after I had lived in Ohio for some time. I had just recently become engaged to your dad… and you had just been born. Your grandpa was planning to marry your grandma. It just wasn't a good time for me to leave. And… I began to miss your dad… _terribly._ Things happened between us… We grew apart. But I would rather wait for another day to tell you about that. I tried to be in a Broadway show… but I just wasn't happy. When I came back, your dad and I got together again… and I wanted to spend time with you and Hunter. And then… I never went back."

Archer raised his head once more, but quickly lowered it when his _père_ gave him a chiding expression. "Do you wish you had gone back?" He asked quietly, a lump forming in his throat. He would hate to be the thing that made one of his parents leave his career, whether or not he was a baby at the time.

"Of course not." That gentle voice brightened once more, and he could almost sense the smile on the lips that the sound was coming out of. "Archer, I would never replace the past sixteen years I've had with you for all of the performances in the world. I don't regret anything. I can never resent my mom… but, sweet, she stayed in France to perform on Broadway… I hardly saw her when I was growing up. My dad kept me in Ohio with him. She passed away when I was eight years old… I didn't get to see her when she died. I know that she regretted it. And I don't want it to be like that… I want to spend every moment with you… with your dad… with your uncle. I love each of you more than I've ever loved anything else."

Hearing his _père_ pad over to him, his feet shuffling across the floor in his thin slippers, Archer poked his nose up, coming face to face with him. There was nothing more beautiful than those blue eyes, especially when they were so close, and he could make out each shade of the lightest blues, like those of the sky. "I love you, too, _Père._"

His _père _smiled, holding his hands out for Archer. "Up, up. We've done enough stretching, haven't we? We need to work on keeping your chin up during your spins."

Archer took his small hands, getting to his feet and standing face to face with his _père, _who busied himself with straightening out his arms and legs. "_Père?_ Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Sure!" His _père_ said cheerily, cupping Archer's cheeks in his hands and pointing his nose nearly up to the ceiling. "Fold your hands in front of you… then lift your foot and rest it against your other knee. You're getting very good, Archer!"

Wobbling a little as he balanced on one foot, Archer looked down at his _père,_ who made a motion for him to slowly make a circle, "_Père,_ why didn't you and Daddy send me to a real school?"

As soon as it was out, Archer regretted saying it, because his _père_ gave him an expression as if he had just slapped him across the face. There were silent rules in the family, and when his daddy and his _père_ had agreed that homeschooling would be what was best for Archer, a decision that was made when he was out of the room, they had also established that it would never be brought up again, especially by Archer. Helplessly holding his hands up as if to say that he was sorry, Archer stared at the way his _père_ dropped his jaw. "_Père,_ I have no friends! I don't know anyone. Shouldn't I have someone?"

His _père_ blinked at him, "Archer, you have your cousins. You like when they call you—"

Archer dropped his stiff pose, throwing his arms out in a frustrated gesture, "_Père,_ please! They call only a few times a month! And I haven't seen them in years! You must have thought about it. You went to the effort of making me my own dance studio. Didn't you ever consider sending me to a school with other people? I've been on my own since I was three years old."

"Archer…" his _père_ heaved, dropping his shoulders in a pout. "We thought you liked the dance studio."

"I do!" Archer cried, looking around himself as if he was just now taking in his surroundings. "_Père,_ I love it in here. But I need friends. Why can't we live in Ohio… so I can be with my cousins… and meet their friends? I never get to see my grandparents! I don't see my uncles! Do you know what it's like to always be by yourself?"

His _père_ stepped forward, holding his hands out for Archer, who reeled backwards, "Archer, darling… listen to me. You know we can't go to Ohio—"

"But why?" Archer yelped, whipping away from his _père,_ who pressed his hands to his shaking back. "I feel like there's something you're hiding from me! I'm sixteen years old! I know that Daddy won't tell me anything about his past, but you're supposed to be open with me! I've told you everything about me! Why can't I know about you?"

"Archer, please!" His _père_ tried, grasping at Archer's shirt, but losing his grip on it when Archer tugged away. His small hands closed around nothing, and he was left holding the air. Archer darted away from him, shouldering through the door and letting it drift shut behind himself. Running up the stairs, he heard his daddy, who had been sitting on the couch, call after him, but he didn't bother turning around, not willing to hear him out when he knew that there was nothing to be heard.

He hadn't even gotten to his room before he heard his daddy's footsteps pounding up the stairs, so he started to make a beeline to his bedroom, but was quickly snagged around the hem of his shirt. "Archer!" His daddy shouted, jerking him against his chest. Archer collapsed against his daddy, sobbing with frantic abandon as he pounded at his chest, unsure if he wanted away, or to be clutched closer. "Archer… what is the matter, baby? Look at me! Tell me what's wrong."

Archer violently sobbed, a bubble of saliva popping onto his puffy lips, "It's Hunter, isn't it? He was killed in Ohio! And you're afraid to go back because of it!" Shoving away from his daddy, Archer screamed at him, "Your fear of his death is killing me! I want to see my family, Daddy! I want to have friends! I want to know where he died… where he walked… where he slept! I have a right to know about the only boy who was ever my best friend!"

"Archer, you don't understand—" His daddy pleaded frantically, grabbing at nothing as Archer inched away, slinking over to his bedroom door. "I want you to know him, baby. I do. But I can't take you back there—"

"If you don't take me to the boy who I loved with all of my heart, I'll hate you forever!" Archer screeched at his daddy, slamming his door behind himself. He heard his daddy make a noise of despair, and soon it was joined by the sounds of quiet weeping, which must have been from his _père,_ and Archer frowned at how much he hated himself for saying such a thing. But he had figured out that, after a few months of hating Hunter for not being there for him, that the quickest ones that he could hate were the ones that he loved with all of his heart. No one, not even his parents, were exceptions to that, since the one thing that he couldn't control about himself was his heart.


	4. This I Promise You

There were few places that Hunter loved being more than Dillon's room, which was on the second floor of the cozy home, tucked away at the end of the hallway, right next to his sister's room. With three children, Dillon's parents had to attempt to fairly divide up the space in whatever house they could afford, so Dillon's room had been divided from his younger sister's with a thin wall. Because Beth stayed for the majority of the time with her mom, she was lent a small guest room for whatever short days that she came to live with her dad and stepdad. This separation made Dillon's room very small, half of it being filled with his bed, and the other with his closet and dresser. But Hunter still loved it in here, despite the fact that when he lounged against the bed, he could stretch his legs out and touch the other wall. He'd grown up in a musty, dark cellar because he couldn't stand to live in the same house as Karofsky, never knowing when he would come up, always feeling like he had to sleep with one eye open, even though he couldn't see at all. All he could hope for was that he could make out his shifting silhouette through the house that was smothered in black by nightfall.

Hunter had never had much of a bed to sink into, smothering himself in warm blankets and plump pillows, and his feet were always cold when he stepped down onto his concrete floor, which was only one thin layer away from the cool soil below. Hunter's favorite thing to do was sit on Dillon's plush carpet, digging his fingers and toes into the coils of fabric, and rest his head on his thick mattress. Watching a vague image of his friend as he sat down beside of him, Hunter took the gooey pizza that was plopped into his hand. Dillon, already having stuffed his face, mumbled around a huge bite, "I'm really glad you're staying over tonight. I've missed you."

Hunter frowned, feeling Dillon press his head onto his shoulder. Sliding his open arm around Dillon's back, he reached up for his head of dark, shaggy hair, and he ran his fingers through the wavy locks. Dillon's soft, thick hair threaded through his fingers, slipping over his knuckles. "You see me every day. We haven't been apart at all this summer."

Dillon wrapped his arms around Hunter's neck, "No… I miss _you, _Hunter. Every time I see you, we're always with other friends of yours… or my sister. You don't act like yourself when they're around. I like the way you act around me."

Hunter snorted, "I wouldn't call them friends, Dillon. They're just guys that like to have a few cigarettes with me. And your sister…" he took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't know, Dillon. I don't know about me and Beth. All we do around each other is drink and get high." Holding Dillon closer to his chest, he muttered against his hair, "I don't love anyone the way I love you, Dillon. I don't want to change… but sometimes I feel like I have to."

Dillon's voice came out much lower, "I think you're better than them, Hunter. If you have to change around them, that means that you're not like them. Do you remember what you did when we met? When everyone else had completely isolated me because they thought I was weird… or they called me a fag… or my dads fags? You were the only one who hadn't shunned me… probably because you shunned yourself. I found you sitting outside, around the back of the school. You were smoking a cigarette. And I wiped the tears off my face… and I said hello to you. And you looked at me… and you had this funny smirk on your face. And then you raised your hand and waved at me."

Laughing quietly, Hunter felt Dillon move against him, curling his entire body into his chest, "I've loved you ever since that day. I wish I could be perfect for you, Dillon. You have no idea how long I've wanted to be with you. Maybe if things were different, we would be together. But I know that you couldn't take it. I'm too much for you. I can't do that to you. You're like a clumsy deer… and I'm a hunter. I could kill you, Dillon. It would be so easy. I can't put you through… me."

"I don't want you to be with me, Hunter." Dillon whispered, turning his face into Hunter's neck. "I know that I couldn't handle you. I don't want to try to. I'm not nearly strong enough to contain someone like you. Besides… I know that you're still in love with someone else. And I do love you, Hunter… but I'm not in love with you. We're just similar enough to be best friends… but too different to be lovers."

"I'm sorry." Hunter grunted, idly sliding his hand down to the waist of his pants, where he felt the outline of a knife sitting inside of his pocket. "Dillon… I know that you'll make someone really happy someday."

Dillon clung tighter to him, balling up handfuls of his shirt in his fists, "Hunter… what was his name?"

Hunter raised his brows, "I… don't remember. I wish I did. Over the years, things have faded away. All I have of him are paintings. The only thing I know for certain was that his eyes were blue… He had these big, bright eyes. And I think he had freckles." Looking down at the top of Dillon's head, he stroked his hair once more, "Sometimes I feel like it wasn't just Karofsky, Dillon. That's crazy, I know… but I'm not entirely certain that he's my real dad. When I look at you with your parents… I can remember… feeling something like that. I don't know if I'm making it all up in my head… but I remember these warm hands reaching down for me… I remember being cradled against this silky material. The hands were so soft. I remember singing… this beautiful, high pitched voice lulling me to sleep. Sometimes the hands were rough, though. But they were still gentle with me. I remember laughter… and spinning in circles… and jumping up and down. I remember sitting on this swing… and screaming as I kept going higher and higher. But then I would come back down to earth… and I'd be safe in a pair of arms that always caught me."

By the tone of his voice, he could tell that Dillon was smiling, "Hunter, I really hope you find what you're looking for." Despite how few words there were, Hunter was still appeased by the simple phrase, because, after a while, he had forgotten what he was even looking for. He didn't know that, somewhere deep inside of him, he wanted to keep going, to finally finish this game of hide-and-seek.

Before they could keep talking, a knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and Dillon called for whoever it was to come in. The door cracked open, and although Hunter couldn't see who was standing there, he made out the tone of Dillon's other dad, Finn. He seemed to be speaking to someone else, so Hunter assumed that he was on the phone. "No… we're keeping him in McKinley. Is that where you really want to send Archer? He's never even been to a private school before. You remember how hard it was on Kurt to be thrown into that situation when he'd never been exposed to it before."

There was a brief pause, and then he clicked his tongue, something he did when he was considering his options, "I guess you're right. So… a senior, huh? What about his languages? I didn't think Archer knew much English." There was another moment of silence, the only noise rattling around in Finn's ear. "No… I'm just shocked. Blaine, you haven't been back to Ohio in ten years… for Carole and Burt's anniversary, I think. Are you sure this is what's best? This was a really sudden decision. Do you think you can handle it?"

Finn inhaled deeply, then released a large huff of air, "No… of course not. Listen… I know you probably have some work to do before the move. I'm going to talk to Dillon about this. Have Kurt call me later. I'll see you in two weeks."

As soon as the call was clicked off, Dillon noisily spoke up, "Dad, was that Uncle Blaine?"

Finn sounded unsure, as if he had already forgotten who he'd just been talking to, "Yeah… um… hey, Dil. I need you to listen to me very carefully… This is really important to your uncle. Your cousin, Archer… has brought up that he wants to go to Ohio to attend the rest of his schooling. You know how your uncle is about Ohio. He loves all of us… but he hates what happened here."

Dillon nodded, "I remember."

Finn shuffled from foot to foot, "Dillon… your uncle is willing to let this happen on two conditions. He said that Archer has to keep up on his dance lessons while he's going through his more practical classes… and that he always has to be safe, which means that you _have_ to look out for him, Dil. He was raised in France… you've heard how rough his English is. He's not going to know anyone, and he probably won't understand all of his classes. The only reason he's been put in the senior class is because he already has scholarships being offered for next year for him to go into some of the best dance schools. I know that you're probably excited to see your cousin… but, Dillon, your uncle is being very strict about this. He said that if even one thing goes wrong, he's taking Archer back to France. Can you promise me that you'll look out for your cousin?"

Dillon threw his hands into the air, nearly whacking Hunter in the face. Hunter pushed himself a few inches away, but kept his arm around the small of his back. "When will Archer be here?"

His dad sounded amused, "A week before school starts. Don't worry, I'm not going to let you miss the day they arrive. They're moving into your grandma and grandpa's old house. You've never been in it… but we've driven past it a few times." As he made to leave the room, he briefly twisted back around and said, "I'm not kidding, Dillon. I want you to keep an eye on him."

Hearing the door snap shut behind Dillon's dad, Hunter glanced over at his friend, who startled him by making a celebratory sound before he swung his arms around him. "Hunter, my cousin is coming to live in Ohio!" He yelped, as if Hunter hadn't been present for that entire conversation. "You have to meet Archer. I think you two would get along. He's a lot like you. He's very serious… and he always speaks his mind." His friend's voice wavered with something that sounded like humor, and he teased him, "The unsurpassable Hunter might just meet his match."

Hunter playfully punched Dillon's arm, "You're questioning my ability to hold my own? What did I tell you about questioning me?"

Dillon returned his arms to Hunter's shoulders, fingering the light hairs at his nape, "I think, Hunter, that one day you're going to question everything about yourself."

Helplessly snorting with laughter, Hunter wrapped his best friend up tighter. He knew that he never questioned anything but the things that weren't himself, if only, after so many years of hiding what was really him, he could know what those things were.

* * *

><p>It was the seventh night in a row that Archer had spent tossing and turning, and it was becoming a tiresome burden, getting such a little amount of sleep and then expecting to be as good as those academies he was promised expected him to be during his dance lessons. Archer had had a long, wearing day that left him drowsy and sticky, after he spent many hours resting on his bed, his sopping face buried in his cool pillows. He'd never been disappointed with his parents before. He'd also never screamed at them. Feeling guilty and ashamed of the childish way he had acted toward them, when he was sure there had to be a reason they were so protective of him when it came to Ohio, he raised his bedraggled, unkempt head at the sound of muffled voices from a few doors down. The louder one was obviously his daddy's, while he couldn't hear much from his <em>père.<em> The biting tone of his daddy's voice cut through his skin, making him flinch at the pain he was caused by knowing that he was the one who had made him so frustrated. Archer had always been good for his parents, had never spoken out of turn, and had always behaved just as they asked him to. He realized that his argument had probably been ridiculous, and a little unasked for, but it was the thing that he wanted more than anything, something they'd never given him, except for those two or three days when they went back ten years ago. He felt that he wasn't being treated fairly, no matter how lavishly they provided for him in France. No matter how much he loved living in France, he loved what was in Ohio.

Hearing his daddy's voice raise, Archer widened his eyes, cautiously pressing his face to the cold wall. He wondered if his parents were arguing, and then considered that impossible, since, in the past thirteen years, he had never heard them fight. He didn't know if they even could. Unable to make out any of the words, he pushed away from the wall, sliding his legs out from under his blankets. He'd eavesdropped on his parents before, so he was no stranger to keeping his footsteps soft and his breathing measured as he wandered out of his bedroom, tiptoeing down the long hallway to his parents' room. When he was just a child, he'd innocently followed his parents up the stairs after they got back from one of their nights out, watching them with adoring eyes as they whispered endearments and touched each other's faces. He'd peeked through the crack they'd left at the side of the door, trying to hold in his giggles as his daddy playfully scooped his _père_ off of his feet, whirling him around. Unfortunately, one of his snickers had slipped out, and his daddy's wide, golden eyes had turned to him, and he'd set his _père_ aside, running across the room to lift Archer into his strong arms and smack sloppy kisses all over his scrunched face.

Pacing across the floor, Archer got to the partially closed door, putting his hands to the side of it as he leaned as near as he could without putting any weight on the door. He got an image of the edge of their bed, which his _père_ was sitting on, his arms folded across his stomach and his head lowered. Suddenly, his daddy's lissome form stalked in front of his _père,_ who looked up at him with a helplessly devastated expression. "Blaine, please… don't fret so. You're worrying me."

His daddy instantly stopped moving, turning to his husband, who held his hands out for him. "Archer's never expressed an interest to go to Ohio before. Why now? Why so urgently?"

Archer pressed his lips together, ducking away from the door. His _père_ whispered in a high voice, "Why shouldn't he want to go back now? Blaine… we knew this day would come. Archer is growing up… He's not a child anymore. He's going to want things like this. He doesn't know anyone, dear… All he asked was to see his cousins. He feels left out of the normal life that any other teenager would live. He's trying to fit in. Our Archer isn't normal, Blaine… but he wants to be, if only for a little while." When his daddy didn't let out anything but an aggravated sound, his _père_ stood up, clasping his fingers in his small hands. "Blaine… I know you're scared, but it's been fourteen years. We can't keep Archer in hiding forever. He's like you… He can't stay in one place for long."

His daddy turned away from the door, flinging his hands up to his face, "I _can't_ risk Archer, Kurt—!"

"Karofsky has nothing against Archer. It was Hunter he wanted—" His _père_ pleaded, folding both of his hands over his husband's arm as if he was trying to keep him from jerking away.

His daddy's voice became much louder, "He wanted everything against me, Kurt! That means taking you away… taking Archer away… Do you remember when he kidnapped you? When he slammed his truck into your car? Karofsky doesn't stop… He _can't_ stop."

"Blaine," his _père_ said calmly, touching his husband's shoulder when he turned away from him, "whether or not Karofsky is there or isn't there, you aren't happy. We don't even know where he is. Don't you want to see our family? We can't keep living like this, Blaine… Even Archer realizes as much, and he doesn't even know them. Do you know how we got together? By taking risks." At the look that his husband gave him, his _père_ opened his arms once more, a gesture that his husband sighed at as he gave in, bending down to collect him against his wide chest. "You've always been a caring daddy to him… but maybe you should try not thinking of what might or might not be best for him… and consider what he thinks is best."

His daddy dropped his face into his hand, but Archer could tell that his disposition was down. A few words from his _père_ could take his daddy's resistance apart. Staring at both of his parents, Archer slowly backed away, then whipped around and rushed back to his room. No matter how much he wanted this, he felt like he needed to go back into hiding, safe inside of his own heart, because being close to others had once killed him. He didn't know if a broken heart could hurt anymore.


	5. Habits

The last time Archer had his entire world packed away in a few boxes was thirteen years ago, when he was three years old and his biological dad, who he now knew as his uncle, had returned from his long stay in India. He didn't remember much about leaving his adoptive parents, other than, for a brief time, he had lived in the house of another family, until his daddy had come back to get him. Now, it was happening all over again, except that he was traveling beside of his parents, not without them. For the past two weeks, his daddy had swarmed himself in paperwork, signing over documents that he wanted to maintain the house in France, all while they stayed in Ohio for the time being. Because his grandparents' old house hadn't been claimed yet, his daddy had purchased it back into the family, while he'd loaned their home in France to a caretaker who was scheduled to come in once a day to care for the gardens. As soon as his daddy had finished that phone call, Archer had realized that it was really happening. He was leaving the place he'd gotten used to, after thirteen years of living in it, and putting his future career aside on his list of priorities. He could only hope that what he would find in Ohio was worth letting go of a part of himself.

After a shaky plane ride through strong winds, his family had been left more uneasy than when they had walked out of the door of their home in Paris, and his daddy had locked the door behind them. Throughout the whole flight, his _père_ had clung to his daddy's arm, which was tight around his waist, every so often making a sound of discomfort from his pursed lips, which were a thin line in his green face, as if he would soon be ill. The conversation they'd had prior, when they had first begun discussing the move, had been vague to Archer, who knew very little of who was apparently Hunter's real dad, Karofsky. But, if he was as bad as they had made him out to be, Archer felt horrible with himself for putting his parents through this. But his _père_ had been right, that it had been fourteen years since Hunter's death. And no one could hate for that long. At least, he thought so. He watched his parents as he walked through the airport with them, studying the way they clasped their fingers together, knuckles white and fingers quivering. He knew that, even besides Hunter's death, something must have really gone wrong with this Karofsky.

While he followed his parents, he became a little distracted by the large signs that hung from the ceiling, depicting pictures of luggage and airplanes, beside of words he couldn't read. Even though his parents' first language was English, only his daddy could really speak it well, and had even given up on it for a time so he could study French, in order to communicate with ease with any passing person on the street. Archer hadn't heard much English as he grew up, so the conversations he picked up of people standing around him were just blurbs, simple words that he could understand without much thought. Others, however, confused him to the point that he openly gaped at the person flinging them out at a rapid pace, until his uncle quietly came along beside of him and nudged him back to his parents' sides.

As he pressed himself against his _père,_ who had busied himself with unzipping his purse, which two small heads popped out of so the birds could get a look at their new home, his daddy took a few steps forward, a wide grin pulling the corners of his mouth up. "Burt." He said, opening his arms for an older man who Archer recognized as his grandpa, a loving but stern man who had raised his _père_ with an open heart. In the past thirteen years, his grandpa had aged slowly, still holding himself up with a strong gait, and a wide form, but with a face lined with twenty more wrinkles, and a head that was dotted with dark spots, but no hair.

At the sound of his dad's name, his _père_ perked up, stroking his birds one last time before he put his purse back at his side, his arms flying apart. "Dad!" He cried, skipping over to the elderly man and burrowing himself into his thick chest as his huge arms wrapped him up. "I've missed you so much! You look so well."

His grandpa hugged his son much tighter, while his grandma, a kind woman who he remembered always had a cookie baked for him when he came to visit her, approached the two of them, laying her hand on his back. His _père_ whirled around at the gentle touch, and he hugged his stepmom warmly, already gossiping about how the other looked, and how their respective houses had been kept up. Archer smiled at the sight of how happy his parents were.

After his daddy and grandpa got their back slapping and brief mutters out of the way, his grandpa turned to him and opened his arms, a gesture that Archer gladly acted upon. "Hi, Grandpa." He said softly, pressing his face to the man's warm chest.

"There's my favorite boy." His grandpa said gruffly, making his daddy chuckle as he laid a hand on Archer's back and rubbed. "You look just like your dad did when he was about your age."

Archer had gotten so used to these comments that he simply giggled, pleased that he was at all like one of his parents, who had done nothing but amazed him for the past thirteen years. "I'm so happy to be home." He chirped, feeling his grandma place a soft arm around the small of his back. "I'm excited to finish my schooling here. I don't know what I'll do after that… I have so many dance schools to choose from. I'm just glad to be meeting people before I go off to college."

Spinning around on his heel, his _père_ held both of his hands out for his husband, who let go of Archer so he could hold onto him. "That flight took everything out of me… so I'd like to get a hot meal and rest my feet for a while before we start unpacking."

His grandma nodded her head, "Of course, dear. I'll heat up some soup for the three of you. Blaine, you must tell us how your work with the Warblers has been."

His daddy went to begin to tell her about the recording contracts he'd recently signed onto the company, and Archer tried to listen attentively, despite the fact that he already knew most of everything, but he was too pestered by his nerves to do anything but stare at the ground, which looked the same as some of the ground that he saw in France. He wondered if this would all be a waste of time, in case he didn't make any friends, or his cousins didn't like him as much as they seemed to over phone calls. Now that he was here, the only thing he really wanted was for no one to get hurt.

* * *

><p>"Hunter!" The sound of someone shouting his name was the last thing Hunter wanted to wake up to, so he squinted up at the source of where the loud voice was coming from, his ability to trace the outline of him blurred by the harsh rays of sun that turned his vision white. "Hunter! Wake up! You can't sleep all day!" He felt something slap him across his back, so he halfheartedly felt around for the annoying pest, grabbing the wrist of the thing that was trying to roll him over. "Get up! My cousin's here!"<p>

For some reason, the words didn't register in his mind, which was still convinced that it was peacefully sleeping. "What?" As soon as Dillon jumped to his feet, Hunter figured that he was off the hook and would be left alone, so he dropped his head to the pillow, only to lift it as he groaned when something was thrown on top of him. "Dillon… you're so loud. What time is it?"

"It's the middle of the day!" Dillon cried, returning to his side and anxiously yanking on the back of his shirt. "Come on, Hunter! They just landed at the airport! They'll be at my grandparents' house any minute now."

Suddenly, a knock on the door made Hunter raise half of his body, his narrowed eyes peering at the door. "Dil," who sounded like his dad, Finn, mumbled, "come on, kiddo. We have to head out now."

"We're coming, Dad!" Dillon shouted through the door, making Hunter wince at the loud noises that he didn't know his friend could make. Turning his attention back to Hunter, he wiped at his lip, scoffing at the grunt that Hunter let out. "I was just wiping the drool off your lip. You can't function right now so someone else has to be your hands and feet." He put his hands at Hunter's sides, boosting him off of the mattress as if he was the size of an elephant. Huffing, he leaned him back against the wall, then grabbed the hem of his shirt. "You're so heavy, Hunter! How can you be so heavy when you're as skinny as a stick?"

Hunter smirked at that, taking his shirt from Dillon after he inched it up to his stomach and yanking it the rest of the way off. "Maybe I'm not heavy and you're just weak." He joked, holding his hand out for the fresh shirt that he'd packed in his bag. "Hand me my sunglasses?"

Once he had his shirt pulled over his head, he scrubbed his hands through his spiky hair, then waited for Dillon to deposit his glasses into his palms. Pushing them over the bridge of his nose, he blinked at how dark his vision became, making it much easier to see Dillon's form when he didn't have the sun glaring through his already whitish eyes. "Tell me again, what's so special about this cousin of yours that you had to wake me from one of the best sleeps I've ever had?"

"I couldn't tell if you were actually enjoying it or not." Dillon said lowly, "You made a lot of funny sounds and slobbered all over my pillow." Placing his hand on Hunter's, he yanked him up from the bed, which Hunter left unwillingly. "I've told you a thousand times this week… you're going to love my cousin. Now hurry up. My dads are really impatient… and I want to see Archer."

Hunter grinned at how excited his best friend was to see a person he hadn't seen in years, letting him lead him out the door and down to the living room, where both of his dads were idly standing around as they waited for the boys to get ready, their hands shuffling through their credit cards, or going over paperwork for upcoming projects at either of their jobs. Dillon's grandparents didn't live very far away, so once they were finally loaded into the car, it luckily didn't take more than five minutes to drive a few streets down, since, with only two seats in the back and three people sitting in them, Hunter practically had to hold Dillon on his lap.

As soon as they pulled up in the short driveway, Hunter opened the door and shoved Dillon off of him, making him laugh as he stumbled to catch his balance. He instantly turned around and whacked Hunter's chest, a nervous sound breaking out of him when Hunter caught his hand with ease. Stepping after his friend, Hunter stayed by his side, hearing a noise from several feet away. What sounded like a door slammed, followed by thumping footsteps across the hard pavement. "Archer!" Dillon screeched, jerking out of Hunter's grip so he could chase down his cousin. Hunter made out the sounds of them practically tackling each other, and then laughter, the breathier from his best friend, and the high pitched one from who must have been Archer. It was a startling laugh, something wonderful that was only let out when this boy must have been completely happy. "I'm so happy to see you!"

"Hi!" Archer laughed, the word breaking off as Dillon snatched him up again, knocking the breath from his lungs. "I've missed you, Dillon. It's been too long."

Dillon took a step back, bringing the new boy closer to Hunter, who shuffled from one foot to the other. "Hey… you're here now, huh? At least for the year. We can spend time together at school… We'll walk to our classes together. We can sit at the same table for lunch. And we'll see each other after school!" Letting go of Archer's hands, he obviously pushed him closer to Hunter, who suddenly felt a small body bump his as Archer caught his footing, reeling backwards from the man he didn't know. "Archer, I want you to meet my best friend, Hunter. We've known each other for years. He knows all about you."

"Oh." Archer sounded uncertain about this, which made Hunter chuckle. He instantly knew that this boy wasn't one to pass out friendship the way he did handshakes. "It's nice to meet you… Hunter."

Hunter smirked at the wavering image of the boy, who appeared to be even shorter than Dillon, since Hunter had to tilt his chin down in order to make out the top of his head. "You can decide that when you get to know me better. I've never been one for polite nothingness."

Archer seemed shocked because he didn't say another word, so Dillon spoke up, "Um… it's okay. That's just him. He speaks that way to me all the time."

"Archer!" Someone called from across the yard, "Archer, come inside, darling. You must spend some time catching up with your uncles."

"Oh—" Archer said once more, "Oh… um… I'll be in!" He must have whipped away from the two others remaining outside because Hunter immediately felt a kick to his shin, and he turned his smirking face to his best friend, who he knew must have been glowering at him.

"Really?" Dillon huffed, grabbing onto his arm with a grip that would have hurt him had he not had such tough skin. "You couldn't have not been an ass for ten seconds? All you had to do was say that it was nice to meet him, too, and asked how his flight went!"

Hunter nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, "I thought you didn't want me to change." Giving his friend a lopsided smirk at the disgusted noise he let out, he started walking when he heard Dillon's loud footsteps clomping across the ground. He knew that he was stomping only to make a point of how annoyed he was, when Hunter knew that all that would get him was a pair of sore feet later. "Besides… you told me you wanted me to love him. You never said when I should. And you know I show that I love you by bothering you until you're in fits. If he wants to be romanced and flirted with, he'll have to find some lovelorn prince, not a frog with all of his flies in order."

Dillon scoffed at him, slugging him across the shoulder once more, "What a practical, typical man you are. No matter what we're talking about, it always comes back to food with you."

"At least I'm not starved for love." Hunter retorted, laughing at his best friend, who instantly stopped walking and raised his hands to Hunter's neck, as if he meant to strangle him. He pushed his friend off of him, taking his arm in his hand and guiding him up to the door of the house. Turning his head from side to side, he quickly picked out Archer, who was plopped between his two uncles as he gave an obviously rehearsed speech of how well he was doing in his dance lessons. Hunter wickedly grinned, wondering if he could make a graceful person graceless.


	6. Talking Body

After twenty minutes of rattling off the same spiel that he had been since he'd decided to become a dancer, Archer figured that he'd socialized enough for the rest of the night, and while his uncles, daddy, and grandpa turned their attention to mindlessly shrugging about how the past ten years had gone for each of them, he quietly slipped off of the couch. He batted his clean hands on his pants, looking down at them as if he'd just smudged them with black ink, and then he frowned, raising his gaze up to his youngest cousin, who was lounging against the arm of the couch as she watched a cartoon through a pair of glazed, bored eyes. Sighing heavily, Archer took his leave from the living room, padding across the soft carpets and onto the cool tile as soon as he pushed through the kitchen door.

At the stove, his grandma and his _père_ stood side by side, occasionally bumping elbows as one reached for the salt shaker or the other for the can opener. His grandma had started to boil a pot of water for the soup, while his _père_ tossed a bowl of salad, coating each piece in a thin layer of dressing. "I can't believe it's been fifteen years, either." His _père_ was saying, slowly shaking his head from side to side. "Fifteen of the best years I've ever had. I couldn't have asked for a more loving husband than Blaine." He looked at his mother-in-law, who was smirking at him. "But you and my dad are doing just as well. I've never seen you looking better, Carole."

While Carole mussed with her hair, which was cut in a short, graying bob, Archer approached his _père,_ holding his hand out to touch his arm. "_Père?_ Could I help in the kitchen?"

"Of course." His _père_ said cheerily, turning back to the salad that was in front of him as he tapped his bottom lip. "Oh… I know what you could do! Please take that loaf of bread from the bag and cut it into thin slices. Would you also butter the pieces?" As Archer walked away to grab the bag of French bread, which his _père _had kindly brought as a treat for the family, his _père_ whirled back around to his mother-in-law. "You know, Archer is doing very well with his studies. He is an excellent dancer… but, even more than that, he's knowledgeable about many paintings… and things of the sky. He loves to observe. His dad and I are very proud of him. One day, he will be on Broadway. I just know it."

"I see no other future for him." His grandma agreed, making Archer frown as he stabbed the bread with a knife a little too harshly. "You and Blaine made anything he wanted to be possible to him. So, tell me how your aunt has been. I've missed her conversations. Do you see her often?"

"Yes, we visit her nearly every weekend… at least, when Blaine gets a day off work." His _père_ went on to say, and Archer was sure that other words were exchanged, but they were drowned out by his own thoughts, which swam around inside of his head, trying to stay afloat as the waves pounded them down.

Sawing through the tough layer of crust on the outside of the bread, Archer flicked his eyes to the side as a large, dark figure suddenly entered his peripheral vision, and he jumped when he realized that the biggest man he had ever seen had snuck over to him, as quiet as a cat preying on a mouse. He dropped the knife, which hit the cutting board with a clatter, and he watched a thin smile pull at the man's pale lips. "Oh… you know, you can't just creep up behind people!"

"Are you easily startled?" His sardonic voice asked, his thin hand reaching down for the bread that Archer had torn to shreds. He picked up a piece and set it on his tongue, chewing so slowly that Archer caught every time his cheek sucked in and his jaw shifted. "What… do you not like French bread? Just because you don't like something doesn't mean you have to mutilate it, the poor thing. This is good bread."

"So, you like something." Archer muttered under his breath, whipping back around to his work station and picking up his knife once more. "Are you trying to have a conversation with me now? You know, you're not very good at this."

The twisted smile didn't waver from his lips, "I think you're wrong. _You're_ not good at this because you never answered my question. At least, to me, that's very rude."

Archer thought through the last few words that had passed between them, and he realized that he had left a question unanswered, even though he didn't see much reason to give him anything to have over him. "Um… no. Not usually, at least. And I do like French bread. It's just… very difficult to cut."

Hunter stepped closer to him, holding out his long, bony hand, which Archer recoiled from as if it was a hissing snake that was about to snatch his fingers in its mouth. "Relax… I'm not going to do anything to you. There are others present. Just give me the knife."

Archer stared blankly at the offered hand, "For what?"

A snarky noise puffed out of his mouth, which opened up very wide, "You ask too many questions."

"I asked one question!" Archer yelled at him, pressing the knife into his palm with too much force. "Or are questions not your thing, either?"

"You catch on quickly." Hunter chuckled, kicking him aside with one booted foot. "Move. I'll cut the bread for you."

Glaring up at his face that Archer had an urge to punch, he shuffled to the side, watching his nimble hands as he held the knife above the rest of the bread, then swiped through it in one clean cut. "You could have said please." He grumbled, hating the way that one remark drew another grin out of his face, which had previously been rumpled with concentration.

"I could have." He agreed, and Archer almost did swing a fist at him, only holding back because he knew that, if he damaged his good looks, all he would have left was a thick skull that was full of a rotten brain, and then no one would like him. As rude as he was, Archer didn't think he deserved to be completely alone, at least not yet.

After a few more slides of the knife, Hunter had seven pieces, perfectly portioned, laid out on the platter. He turned, giving Archer a winning smile that he almost grinned back at. Cocking his head down to the floor so Hunter couldn't see the satisfaction on his face, he crossed his arms over his chest, blocking him out when he slid a foot closer to him. "Thank you. How did you become so good with a knife?"

Hunter laughed again, a deep sound that rumbled from his chest. "I wouldn't call having the ability to cut bread being good with a knife." One winged brow arched, appearing above the edge of his sunglasses, which Archer didn't understand why he wore inside. "Sit by me at dinner." When Archer didn't immediately reply, he lowered his voice, quietly teasing, "I might have to butter it for you, too."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself, Hunter." Archer scolded, picking up the plate and carrying it over to his _père,_ who was openly gaping at him with a pair of huge eyes. He helplessly shrugged at him, then spun back around to Hunter, who he had sensed was standing right at his heel. As he expected, his face nearly hit a black wall, his eyes going straight to the middle of his broad chest. Scoffing, Archer shook his head, quickly backing away from him, "Don't you have someone else to annoy? I have to help make dinner."

When Archer took a few steps over to the pantry, Hunter walked backwards with him, blocking his pathway with his gigantic body. "I've worn out all of my tricks on your cousin." Archer rolled his eyes, pressing his hand to his arm, which he couldn't wrap all of his fingers around, and he pushed him away.

As soon as his hand lifted to open the pantry door, a strong grip coiled around his wrist, so powerful that if he had wanted to, he could have snapped his arm in half. "Let go, please."

"I can't sacrifice any more of this dinner to your skills with your hands… or what you lack of them." Hunter grabbed the knob to the pantry door, pulling it shut once more, and then he leaned himself against it. "What's with you and being so polite?" He scowled at him, making Archer roll his eyes up to the ceiling.

"If I wasn't polite, then I would be like you." He snapped at him, reaching up to his shoulder and giving a few shoves. "Hunter… please step out of the way."

"I'll step out of the way if you'll let me make whatever it is you're trying to make… and will undoubtedly ruin."

Archer pushed his lips to one side of his face, "You cook?"

"Only when I'm hungry." Hunter shrugged, giving Archer a funny smile when a breath of a giggle slipped through his teeth. "What's so funny?"

Shaking his head, Archer patted Hunter's hard shoulder, heaving with relief when he finally stepped to the side. He stretched on his toes, sorting through the containers of spices and sugars. "You say very strange things, Hunter."

He rested against the wall, bending down so he could be closer to Archer, whose head didn't reach the middle of his upper arm. "Only when I'm trying to make sense." He muttered quietly, bringing one of his thighs forward so it brushed against Archer's, which shuddered at the heat beneath that thick layer of rough fabric. Giving the ingredients over to Hunter and instructing him to stir them into the soup, Archer gasped when Hunter lowered his head, placing it just centimeters above his. His warm breath moved Archer's thin curls, "You're polite enough to always repay your debts?"

Archer nodded, "Yes… I always try to."

The smirk returned, stretching his wide mouth from ear to ear, "You do know that by letting me help you not destroy dinner, you owe me?"

He closed his eyes, avoiding looking at those thick lips, "I suppose I do. What is it you want?"

The dark head raised, as well as that single brow, "Do you want to know what I want for now? Or for later?" Lacking words because he wasn't certain that he knew what Hunter was talking about, Archer just shook his head, bringing a cruel laugh from Hunter's lips. "What I want for now is for you to sit by me at dinner. If you do, I'll tell you what I want for later."

Swallowing, Archer stared at Hunter's flexing back as he walked back over to the stove, slipping in between the two adults, who gazed at him as if he had just tamed a lion. His _père_ instantly swung around to stare at him with those disbelieving eyes, so Archer cocked his head down to the floor, blushing. Knowing that his composure was gone as he wrung his sweaty hands in front of him and licked his lips every so often, he excused himself to the bathroom, where he stayed until his _père_ called him back out, pleading with him to tell him what had happened back there, an answer that Archer could only give as another shake of his head.

Feeling like a child under the critical, disapproving eyes of his parents, Archer followed his _père_ into the dining room, where the rest of the family was sat at the table, conversing through tight lips about how the trip had gone, and how they dreaded unpacking into their new house. As soon as he walked into the room, the conversation quieted down, and his _père_ gently rubbed his back, as if he was trying to assure him that he could happily sit down with his family. It was as if he'd done something wrong. Blinking at his daddy, he followed the line of people, starting with him, around the table, from his grandparents to his cousins, and then stopped on Hunter, who, much to his aggravation, had only one of the two open seats next to him. He was nearly tempted to slip in beside of his daddy, but knew that was a spot reserved for his _père_ and his _père_ alone.

Slumping his shoulders, he cowardly slunk around the table, throwing himself down beside of Hunter, who had refreshed himself with a new scent in the past hour that Archer had spent away from him. He lifted his head, sniffing in his direction, and made out the undeniable aroma of black coffee, bitter and tangy to the tongue, and the nose. He wondered how anyone could drink a mug of coffee in the early evening hours. Archer could only bring himself to stand it if it was sweetened, and early enough in the morning that he was still exhausted to the point that his mouth was completely numb. "Won't you be wide awake tonight?" He stupidly asked, unfairly putting himself in a conversation that he'd, for some dumb reason, chosen to start with this intolerable, arrogant man.

"Taking over your kitchen duties exhausted me." He muttered sarcastically, a rough chuckle breaking out of him when Archer kicked him beneath the table. "I'd rather you kick me than hit me, I suppose… considering how violent these hands of yours can be."

"I've never wanted to slap anyone before." Archer told him, making him let out an inquisitive sound. "It's funny how a person can change when they're around a complete ass." Hunter laughed again, idly reaching over for Archer's plate and picking up his slice of bread. He grabbed the container of butter, scooping up a hunk with the tip of his knife. "So… how did my cousin meet you… and, more importantly, how did he _like _you?"

Hunter threw him that cocky grin that made Archer want to kill him. "I go to McKinley, too." Tilting his head at Archer, Hunter pressed his hand to his chest, making a face like he was wounded. "Are you saying there are unlikable things about me?"

"There are _likable_ things about you." Archer explained, "But there are more things there to dislike."

"I can't tell what's more hurtful, your hands or that sharp tongue of yours." He joked, placing the buttered bread back on Archer's plate. "You're in the senior class, aren't you?"

Archer bobbed his chin up and down, "Yes… but I am taking one class that's for juniors. An English class. I can speak a little better than I can write, but I'm still not very good at either."

Something about that pleased Hunter, "Maybe we'll have it during the same hour. I could sit by you… make sure your pencils are all sharpened."

"If you don't shut up, I'll stab you with one of those pencils."

Hunter scrunched up his face, puckering his bottom lip as if he was pouting, "Can you at least threaten me with one of those knives? If you're going to kill me, why don't you do it in a way that's not laughable?"

Archer smirked at him, "Trust me, any way to kill you would be laughable." Glancing over at Hunter, who was still frowning at him, Archer suddenly felt his face heat up as he got a good look at the man beside of him. It was the first time he'd been facing him that Archer didn't have to tilt his head all the way back in order to see the underneath of his jaw, at the very least. Besides what he couldn't see behind the darkened sunglasses, this man had a very gorgeous face, one that wasn't classically beautiful, and maybe a little too rough around the edges. But Archer's heart still thumped at the sight of it.

Hunter's face was very thin, his high cheekbones prominent, and his shaven jaw a straight line, pointing down to his hard chin. His skin was a dark tan, contrasting with his whitish blond locks, which were cut into short spikes on top of his head. His arched eyebrows were a much darker color, like that of the brown of wetted sand. A long, thin nose split his face down the middle, a very symmetrical nose that had a crease underneath it. His mouth was too wide for his narrow face, and his top lip was as full as the bottom one. His lips were a pale color, almost a lighter shade than his skin. There was something unusual about his appearance that Archer couldn't put his finger on, something breathtaking that he didn't see in other men.

Realizing that he was staring when Hunter quirked a corner of his mouth at him, Archer blushed furiously, whipping his face away. "You're thinking something of me." His assuming tone prodded, making Archer frown, embarrassed by his unintentional reactions to Hunter, who he knew was only fooling with him. It wasn't like Archer to let himself be flustered over anyone, let alone a complete stranger. "Tell me what it is. That's what I want for later. I want you to tell me what you're thinking about me."

Archer's face turned as red as a cherry, and he gasped when rough fingers brushed over his cheek, trying to turn his face back to him. He refused, burying his chin in the collar of his shirt so Hunter couldn't move it. "I-I'm not thinking anything. I don't k-know you. I can't make opinions so hastily."

Hunter laughed at that, amused by something that Archer certainly didn't think was so funny, "You've been quick to judge me this entire night. You've been noticing things about me. I also don't take well to lying, Archer. You will tell me what you think of me. I can promise you that." Widening his eyes, Archer started to whip around so he could put him back in his place, not daring to force Archer to tell him a single thing, but he remained frozen when those fingers tenderly caressed his chin. A stray curl bounced against his knuckles, and he turned his hand to that tendril of hair, catching it between his fingers. "You have curly hair."

Archer rapidly turned his chin up and down, his breathing picking up as Hunter stroked his calloused fingertips through the soft hair. "I-I do." As Hunter slid his hand around to Archer's nape, feeling the fuzzy hairs that sprouted there, Archer turned his head down to the table, his eyes boring holes through the wood. "H-Hunter, what are you doing?"

Hunter placed one hand on Archer's cheek, turning his head up to him. Archer helplessly stared at him, unable to see his eyes through his glasses, but knowing that they were holding his. "Your face is so round. You don't have much of a chin, button." His hand moved over Archer's face, two of his fingers pinching Archer's chin. He lifted Archer's face higher, and Archer almost exploded with mortification when he bent closer, the tip of his nose nearly bumping his. "You're beautiful, aren't you?" He asked, as if he somehow couldn't come to that conclusion on his own.

"I—" Archer whispered, shuddering as Hunter's face lowered a few inches more, their lashes tangling as his quivered in a series of blinks. "I don't know—"

Archer had nearly forgotten that there were others in this world, as he got lost in that hard face that could, at one second, be a condescending, twisted smirk, but, at others, be so intensely observant that Archer nearly felt stripped naked. It wasn't until his cousin barked Hunter's name that Archer snapped out of his own world, which had, for a brief time, become Hunter. Hunter immediately let him go, whipping around to Dillon as a low snarl vibrated from deep inside of him. Panting, Archer fell back in his seat, staring at the back of his head in disbelief and bemusement. How could he have let himself go so easily to a stranger, when he wasn't even very good at making coherent sentences to people he didn't know?

Dinner went on in the thickest silence that Archer was sure that even Hunter couldn't have cut through with a knife. As soon as the last bite was taken, Archer excused himself and shoved away from the table, nearly running out of the room. Before he could even reach the bathroom, a dark figure appeared in front of him, snatching both of his arms in one strong fist, while the other clapped over his mouth. The form dragged him into the hallway, where they wouldn't be seen as their family picked up plates and slowly returned to the living room to continue their conversations about jobs and homes and families.

When they retreated far back enough into the hallway, Hunter let him go, but quickly shoved him against a wall and trapped him with his body before he could dart away. "Hunter—!" Archer yelped, squirming against him, but finding himself rendered helpless when Hunter seized both of his hands, one of his wide thighs nudging between his. "Are you crazy?"

"I think you already know the answer to that." Hunter whispered coolly in his ear, making Archer blink with alarm. "If you _ever_ say that you don't know that you're beautiful again, _I_ might just have to stab you with a knife." Before Archer could screech at him to let him go and never bother him again, a pair of hands delved into his curls, and a mouth smothered his, intruding, hard, and firm. Archer's eyes blew out of proportion, and he struggled against Hunter, feeling his skin bruise as Hunter devoured him, sucking and nipping. Suddenly, though, the mouth softened, becoming warm on his, the aftertaste of coffee, mixed with the spice of the soup melting onto his tongue as Hunter licked his lips apart.

Whimpering softly, Archer went weak in Hunter's grip, his trembling hands lifting to his powerful shoulders and clutching as if he would fall over if he let go of him. He tried to kiss Hunter back, but didn't know what to do with any part of his mouth, so he let Hunter do the work, pressing his tongue just past his small rows of teeth, and flicking the tip of his own with it. Hunter grunted lowly, pushing one more nudge onto Archer's mouth before he raised his head, which was flushed with a reddish color. He left his body on top of Archer's for another second, then turned his head to the side, and he peeled himself up.

As Hunter stood in front of him, his body bent in a protective and possessive stance, Archer realized how very little he wanted to be claimed by this spontaneous and dangerous stranger, and how angry he was that he had kissed him without asking for permission, or even his last name, first. Making a hissing sound at him, Archer raised one of his hands, smacking him across the cheek when he still had his head turned. As Hunter jerked back around to him, one of his hands lifting to the fingerprints left behind, Archer shoved on his chest, giving himself a gap to escape. "Don't you _ever_ touch me like that again." He cried, pushing out of Hunter's grip and scurrying out to the living room, where he was still under the suppressing gaze of his family, who seemed to know something, even though it wasn't possible.

Wildly shaking his head, Archer stormed over to the stairs, stomping up each one with his clenched fists swinging by his sides. When he got upstairs, he went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind himself, refusing the calls of anyone who came to ask about him, even his parents. Feeling betrayed, he irately cursed himself for letting himself get caught up in Hunter's games, which was all this really could be. After all, some hunters didn't shoot to survive.


	7. I'd Come For You

It had been a week since Archer had holed himself up in his bedroom, only padding up the stairs to get a bite of food and mutter a few greetings to his parents, who he knew he had worried after that awful day when they had arrived at their new home. Rather than go out to visit his cousin, who had been the one person he'd wanted to see enough to move across continents for, Archer remained in the basement of his home, straightening the picture frames that he'd set out on his dresser, and rearranging his closet, which was bare except for a couple of shirts and pants, and a bin of all of his favorite childhood toys that he couldn't bear to part with. Most of them had been nibbled and drooled on, with matted fur or messy piles of hair, but he loved each of them with every part of his heart. They had once been Hunter's—_his _Hunter, not the Hunter that came along as a package deal with his cousin, one that he'd unknowingly took upon himself.

He frowned at the thought of Hunter, who his cousin had left him many urgent messages about, claiming that he was sorry for whatever he did to upset him, that he wanted him to give him another chance. Somehow, he knew that Hunter wasn't sorry at all, and had probably not even been present for when his cousin had been pleading with him to forgive him. Archer was not a person to hold grudges, as it was simply too much of a headache to always try to be angry, but he certainly would not be forgiving Hunter until he heard those words from his raspy, deep voice. "Damn him." Archer whispered to himself, taking a few long steps out of his steaming bathroom. He knew he would have to come out of hiding at some point, and unfortunately also have to face the ass who had drove him away from the one person who Archer had wanted more than anything, but he wasn't nearly ready to head off to his first day at a real high school. This was not turning out to be what he expected. If there were more people there that would be like Hunter, he might have to drop to his parents' feet and beg them to take him back to France.

Holding a towel up to his hair, which he was rubbing to blot the moisture away, Archer started to go over to his closet to pick out an outfit that might look decent. As he opened the door, he heard a crackle from outside, and his head whipped around, a frown turning his lips down at the sight of the downpour of rain that was pounding the window. He immediately dropped the towel, knowing that it would be useless. "Great." He snapped, reaching up for the few clothes that he had and yanking out a simple, blue hoodie and a pair of dark jeans. He saw no use in making himself presentable when the first impression he would make would be one of him imitating a sopping, miserable rat that had just been dunked into sewer water. "How could this day get any worse?"

Once he was dressed, he turned back to his bed, where he had set his shoulder bag. He picked it up, feeling the weight of his books. He carried it out of his room, clomping up the stairs and into the living room. His daddy was out of the room, but his _père_ was curled up on one end of the couch, a white sweater with strings hanging off of it splayed across his lap. His deft fingers weaved needles and strings over and under each other, and his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth. At one time, his _père_ had knitted these clothes for Archer alone, when he was still just a child and thought that dressing up like his _père_ was the neatest thing to do. He'd loved to model for his _père,_ who let him wear the tiny outfits as he snipped pieces of fabric and strung pieces of lace around the waist. Part of Archer still missed that, and still resented the day that his _père_ had come to him, holding up what would eventually be a pink dress, and Archer had shook his head, repulsed by the idea of not fitting in with the norm. But, back then, and as of right now, Archer felt that it was in his best interest to not stand out as the child of a formerly famous Broadway singer and model, and one of the heads of a major record producing company.

As his _père_ lifted his head to him, the sound of tires drew his eyes behind him, and he twisted around to look at the car that was pulling up in the driveway. "Oh… that must be your uncle and cousins. I didn't realize how late it was getting to be." Setting aside the unfinished fabric, he brushed his skirt down and said, "You must have a few bites of breakfast. Blaine, dear! Would you please bring Archer a plate of pancakes?"

Archer shook his head, glancing out the window at his uncle, Noah, who was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "Oh, no… it's okay, _Père. _I'll take an apple with me… thank you."

"Are you sure you won't be too hungry?" His _père_ asked, holding his hands up to Archer's shoulders. He gave him a small smile when Archer nodded. "You'll be wonderful… I just know it. You'll meet new people… make some friends… just like you wanted. Your uncle will you pick you up after school, and then you must tell us how you like your new school."

Nodding once more, Archer felt his daddy's strong arm wrap around him, his large hand presenting a red apple to Archer, who gratefully took it. He turned and hugged his daddy, relieved when his muscular arms bundled him up and held him tightly. "I love you, Daddy… and _Père._ I'll try my best, I promise." He let go of his daddy, giving both of his parents a wave, which they returned, before his daddy placed his hand at his husband's waist.

Sighing heavily, Archer turned away from them, shoving his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt. He pulled his bag up higher on his shoulder, then stepped out into the brisk air of fall, the smell of the changing season masking the scent of his juicy apple, which he gnawed a chunk out of. He opened the back door to his uncle's car, sitting down hard beside of Dillon, who gave him a hesitant smile. Beside of Dillon was his youngest cousin, while his older cousin, Beth, took the front seat, beside of her dad. "Hey, kiddo." His uncle greeted him, turning around so he could flash him a friendly smile.

Putting his bag on his lap, Archer fiddled with the handles, his narrowed eyes glancing out the window as the image he had of his house disappeared behind them. "Thanks for driving me, Uncle Noah." He said quietly, looking back up at his uncle, since he was purposefully trying to avoid Dillon's seeking gaze.

"It's no problem." He said, turning the steering wheel so the car drifted into the main line of traffic. "Your parents said that we would switch on and off for the carpool. Besides, I figured you didn't want your dad embarrassing you by crying about this in the parking lot." Archer rolled his eyes at that, knowing that if there was one word to describe his daddy, overprotective would be the kindest of them.

As if he had somehow sensed that there was something off about Archer, his uncle gave up on conversation, a silence that Archer took as a respite. To his luck, even his cousin remained quiet, even though he could tell that he was squirming to plead Hunter's case once more. Archer would have taken that conversation with a closed ear. Letting his eyes fall shut, he leaned his head back on the seat, as if he was trying to sink into it and never appear again. The last person he ever wanted to see again was Hunter, but he had a feeling that he would be around him all day.

They pulled up in the parking lot twenty minutes later, so Archer unbuckled himself and pushed his door open, watching people around his age herd around the one building that Archer suddenly didn't want to go into. Had he been stupid in thinking that this would be easy, that he would go inside and make instant best friends, and then go on his merry way to each class? He hadn't even been inside the building yet and he already had one enemy. Hooking his bag onto his shoulder, he waited for his cousin to climb out behind him, mainly because Archer didn't even know which way was the correct one to get into the building. His plan was to ditch his cousin as soon as possible, so that he could avoid at least one encounter with the man he still wanted to strangle.

Feeling his cousin grab his arm, Archer let himself be dragged along, his feet hardly leaving the ground for each step. He was probably burning holes through the soles of his shoes, which sloshed over the growing puddles as the rain splattered the ground by buckets. He headed in the direction that his cousin seemed to be taking him, but stopped when his cousin came to a short halt on the sidewalk, which was packed with other students that were running by, chasing each other, or chasing the time to get to their first class. "Uh… Archer, I can't really walk with you to your first class. My science class is on the other side of the building, but you'll want to go in these doors. The office is right down the hallway. Stop in there… I know they'll have forms for your dads to fill out, and a map and a schedule for you. I don't know if we'll have any classes together, so text me what you have when you find out."

"Okay." Archer stared blankly at Dillon, unhappily watching him whip away, following his younger sister as she went off to the other side of the building. Frustrated that he'd ended up completely alone, which was the one thing he thought he'd avoid when he decided this move would be good for his social life, he clenched his hands into small fists, shoving through the back door to the school. He stormed down the hallway, pacing himself through the maze of students, many of them who put up pointless walls just to confuse him and make him turn himself around. After a few more times of ducking through bodies and raising onto his toes to read signs, he thought he'd found the office, which was nearly silent, except for the clacking keys as the secretary typed on her computer. When the door shut behind him, it blocked out all of the raucous from outside. "Um… excuse me? I'm new here. My cousin said you had forms for me."

The woman looked up from her computer, giving him a glassy stare as he approached the counter, and then she shook her head, quickly rising to her feet. "Oh… of course. What is your name, dear?" She opened a filing cabinet, her thin fingers flipping through the alphabetized folders. He muttered what his name was, and she pulled it out after a minute of digging. "Here is your schedule and a map of the school. You'll have to take the rest of these forms home with you so your parents can fill them out. Bring them back promptly."

As Archer flipped through the papers, the door swung open once more, letting in the loud noises from the hallway, and then slammed shut. He picked up the paper that had his classes listed on it, and he squinted at the room numbers beside of the class names, trying to locate those on the map. "Uh… could you please tell me if the English room is on the other side of the building? I can't find it anywhere."

Much to his surprise, a hand reached over his shoulder and covered his map, blocking his vision of the tiny print that pointed at what he couldn't tell were squares, walls, or classrooms. Recognizing the shade of that tanned skin, Archer stiffened his entire body, knowing exactly who was behind him. He flinched, gripping his papers with a tightness that crinkled their pristine conditions. "I'll take you to the English room. Just give me a minute to get my papers." The hand flattened on his stack of papers, and Archer tried to pull them out from under it, but they seemed to be stuck. Stepping backwards, Archer drained of all color when his body hit a hard wall. His stomach did a terrible, rolling motion that left him nauseous when he realized that he was trapped between the desk and Hunter.

As Hunter casually spoke to the woman behind the counter, his hand abruptly lifted from the papers, giving Archer a second to scoop them up and press them tightly to his chest. The hand came up to the side of his face, searching fingers finding his earlobe, which he playfully tugged at. Archer's skin heated up to a thousand degrees, the color returning with a flare. When he was done collecting what he needed, Hunter backed away from him, giving Archer a moment to stagger around, his huge eyes flicking over his entire body as if he needed to prove to himself that he was there. Of all the people to come in to the office, the most unpopular place in the entire school. As if amused by Archer's stunned silence, Hunter gave him a winning grin, "I thought you were polite. Aren't you going to ask me how my morning was?"

Archer blinked at Hunter, who reached out for him once more and snatched his wrist. Too shocked to say anything, he went along with him, carefully watching him from the corner of his eye. "What were you doing in the office?" He blurted, making the smile stretch from ear to ear.

"You're feeling nosy today, aren't you?" Hunter joked, his steps speeding up when they got to a break in the swarms of students. Archer had to scurry after him, his short legs only carrying him so far. "I was getting my own paperwork. Not all of us have parents who can fill it out ahead of time." Furrowing his brows at that, Archer opened his mouth to ask what he meant, but Hunter suddenly spoke up again, "Do you have your English class now?"

Archer felt his mind go blank for a second, his unbelieving eyes staring up at Hunter, who was wearing that cocky smirk that always made Archer feel beside of himself. "Um… yes. With…" he checked over his schedule to make sure he got the name right, "Mr. Lumbly? You don't have to walk me all the way there… If you could just point to the—"

Archer didn't know that a smile could be as big as Hunter's was. "Don't worry about it. I'm in that class, too." He almost swore out loud, but contained the damnation for Hunter and everything that he was just by sucking his lips in. He couldn't believe that, of all of the classes he would have on his own, the one class he had with the juniors just had to be one he shared with Hunter.

The two of them didn't speak for the rest of the walk there, as Archer was too busy panting to keep up with Hunter's ground-eating strides to murmur a single word. Hunter whipped around one more corner, and he skidded to a stop in front of a wooden door, which had the same number engraved on it as what the paper said it would. Frowning as Hunter pushed him inside, Archer swept his eyes over the entire room that was full of people he didn't know, and probably never would, studying each of their faces, which were turned away from him and instead pressed to their friends' ears, until Hunter gave him another light shove. He opened his mouth to tell him to keep his hands off of him, but he had already grabbed onto his shoulder, pulling him along to one of the back rows, where the only two remaining seats were. "Hey, I'm not sitting by you!" Archer cried, refusing to lower into the chair that Hunter left behind in favor of the one right next to it. "If you think I am, you're insane."

Hunter's lip curled into a sneer, "And where else would you sit, princess? Would you like everyone to rise so you can pick your favorite spot? Stop being ridiculous… You're acting like a spoiled brat."

Realizing that a few eyes had flashed over to the two of them, Archer immediately sat, giving in with a loud huff. He could only hope that there would be an assigned chart, and that Lumbly had kindly put him as far away from Hunter as he could be. Lowering his voice, Archer hissed at Hunter, "But you're being mean." He undid the strap to his bag, pulling out his English books and setting them on his desk with a clunk.

Hunter shook his head, obviously annoyed, "Learn to be more appreciative, kitten, because as soon as Lumbly sees you sitting here, you're going to be stuck here for the rest of the year. He assigns by rows. We'll be partnered for every project there is for a whole nine months."

Archer widened his eyes to the size of saucers, his head flinging from side to side as he sought out any other seats. To his regret, every one of them was taken. Beside of him, Hunter chuckled darkly, "Maybe we could try to be friends just to make this less of a miserable experience for you—"

Holding up one finger to Hunter's mouth, Archer whispered, "Hush! Just be quiet! I don't want to speak to you for the rest of the day."

"So, we'll be on speaking terms tomorrow?"

Archer made a point of ignoring him, distracting himself with aligning the edges of his books perfectly. Before he became too bored of his idle task and helplessly glanced back over at Hunter, who he wondered what he was doing, a man in his later years strode through the door, old enough to be at least fifty. A pile of books were pressed to his chest, and he set the load down on his desk. After he wiped his sweating brow, he hurried to the front of the classroom, looking more flustered than Archer was. "Settle down, class!" He raised his hands, making a quieting motion with them. When he was satisfied with the lowered noise level, even though there were still some muttered conversations being carried on, he carelessly shrugged off his next few sentences. "Welcome to your junior level of English. This year, I thought we could start off by grouping off by rows and having each group write a paper about something their senses can pick up on. This is something you might see, or hear, or smell. In order to get all of you inspired to use your senses for something more than staring at cellphone screens, I have planned a trip to a nearby reservoir. We will be sleeping every night in cabins, and hiking through the woods during the day. Get the permission of your parents! I expect slips to be turned in as soon as possible."

The class burst into an uproar of cheers and hoots about how awesome this fieldtrip would be, while both Archer and his apparent new partner stayed in silence, until Archer turned his head and asked Hunter, "Why aren't you excited… like the rest of them are?"

Hunter, who had been looking ahead of him, turned his gaze back to Archer. A corner of his lips flipped up, "At any moment, I could go anywhere I wanted in this entire world. I'm well aware of how easy it would be for me to escape. The rest of them don't see all of the possibilities. One day, I'm not going to be pinned down to one place, and I'm going to leave. I'll be able to travel wherever I want."

Archer raised one of his brows. For how negative this man could be, he had a list of things that he could rave on about. "If you want to go so badly, why have you stayed here for so long? Is it that you don't have the money?"

Hunter rested his chin on his fist, giving Archer the kindest smile he'd seen cross his lips so far, "You're very blunt. I've never heard anyone speak to me the way you do." Cocking his head to the side, he reached out for Archer's face, smoothing a loose tendril of hair off of his forehead. "With or without money, I'd have the ability to make it on my own. I've trained myself to live a life of minimalism, anyway. I think I've stayed… because I've been waiting."

"For what?"

The corners of Hunter's eyes creased, a few of the wrinkles visible, but most covered by the rim of his sunglasses. "To be proven wrong." Archer still didn't understand, but he didn't get the chance to ask because the blaring bell cut him off, and Hunter immediately stood, his bag already packed and dangling from his shoulder. But, instead of leaving, he hovered above Archer, extending one hand toward him. Archer gaped at the bony fingers, watching the veins beneath stretch the skin at the top of his hand. "It's okay, Archer. I would tell you I'm not going to kiss you again… but you're going to have to never let me be alone with you in order for me to keep that promise." The hand stretched closer to him, his fingertips brushing the edge of his sleeve. "Take my hand. I'll walk you to your next class."

Archer reluctantly placed his hand in the middle of Hunter's, gasping at the heat that radiated off of his calloused palm. He stood up beside of Hunter, blocked from him only by the metal bar that held his flat desk to the seat. Pulling Archer around to his side, Hunter took the bag that hung limply off the tips of his fingers, and he clasped it between his elbow and side. "Do you trust me at all?" Hunter muttered, his voice containing no hints of sarcasm or humor for the first time since he'd spoken to him.

"N-No." Archer whispered, pinching his eyes shut when Hunter lowered his face to his, his smoky breath blowing into his nostrils. "Hunter… please…"

"I'm not going to kiss you." He said again, his fingertips sliding under Archer's chin so he could lift his face. "Of all of the places I've ever wanted to go, your mouth is the one I want more than anything. I've never refused myself anything… since I'm the only one who's ever given anything to myself. But I'm going to do this for your sake. You can say one word and I'll never try to visit with you again… You can walk to class early tomorrow and choose a different seat. I'll make someone else my partner… You won't have to deal with me anymore."

When Hunter dropped his hand from his face, Archer's skin nearly ached where there had once been heat, but now was just cold. Feeling Hunter unwrap himself from him, Archer dumbly held his hands out to him, grabbing fistfuls of the back of his jacket. "Hunter." He begged, his voice shaky and high pitched. He pulled Hunter back to him, his knuckles pressing into the muscle that rippled over his back. "Hunter… wait." Hunter turned his head to the side, giving Archer an image of his hard jaw, which was the only thing he could see because of how short he was. "Y-You don't have to go away. I trust you a little." Hunter's jaw tightened with a thick swallow, and his teeth clenched, so Archer tugged on him, feeling like he was slipping out of his grasp. "Hunter… _I_ want you to stay."

At those words, Hunter whipped back around, an alarmed look on his face as if he had been expecting Archer to kick him onto his ass. Archer felt stupid as he stared up at Hunter, knowing that he had just given that damned man something over him. Hunter had offered him nothing. He wouldn't get hurt if one of them betrayed the other. But, even though he hadn't seen that entire face yet, he could tell that there was something gentle about it, no matter how many cocky looks or sardonic smirks Hunter gave. There was a tenderness in those lips that made every word that drove Archer off the edge playful and affectionate, as if he wasn't trying to be mean, but just didn't know exactly how to be nice.

Suddenly, Hunter shuffled closer to him, leaning over once more and giving Archer a whiff of the undeniable scent of cigarettes. Pushing himself backwards so he had space from Hunter, Archer inhaled sharply when those long arms wound around his waist, drawing him into that broad chest. He turned his head to the side, his cheek thudding against a steady heart, which pounded rhythmically, except for an unexpected jolt when Archer helplessly raised his hands, folding them around the nape of Hunter's neck and petting the layer of fuzz that sprouted from his thin skin. One of Hunter's hands raised to his hair, threading through his thin, dark curls and pulling piles of them up to his face, as if he was trying to sniff each strand. Archer breathed out heavily, clinging much tighter to this powerful, but tender, man, who had such a strong heart.


	8. I'm Not the Only One

The last class that Archer had before it was his lunch break was chemistry, where he resented every moment that he was stuffed into this stiff chair, his stomach uncomfortably pressed on by the edge of the hard table. He nearly regretted not taking his parents' offer on a plate of pancakes that might have even kept him stuffed through his entire lunch hour, but then he figured that he could devour the peanut butter sandwich and banana that he'd packed away the night before in just a few minutes, so he ignored his gurgling stomach, which had gotten him many dirty looks from the handful of kids that took up the tables around him. As soon as the bell rang, Archer picked up his books and slid them into his bag, which he hung over the crease of his elbow. He didn't see how every other kid could have done this for the past ten years of their lives. Archer had been hauling this bag around for a few hours and his shoulders were already throbbing.

Checking his phone for any messages, specifically ones from his cousin, who he hadn't spoken to since that morning, he sighed when he realized that if he didn't immediately see Dillon in what he assumed would be a packed lunchroom, he might have to eat on his own. He heaved himself out of his chair, following the line of students who were hurrying out of the room. With his head lowered as he tried to send a text to Dillon, asking him if he could meet him somewhere, he almost bumped into something very hard, which sent him stumbling backwards until a pair of hands came to his back, steadying him. "Careful." A teasing voice said, the hands lowering from his back as soon as he was on his feet. "For a dancer, you're quite clumsy."

Archer raised his head to Hunter, who was wearing that sly smirk, as if he had just done something bad and had sneakily avoided getting caught. Raising a brow at him, Archer turned his head either way, checking for anyone else that Hunter might have been going to lunch with. Startled when he realized that the science classroom had cleared out of students, and that everyone else was rushing by them so they could get to the front of the line for food, he looked back up at Hunter, who was still smiling in that funny way of his. He flushed a deep color when he realized that, like for every other place that he had to go to, Hunter always appeared at the doorway, waiting to collect him so he could walk him there. "Um… Hunter, you don't have to take me to every room that I go into. I think I know the layout of the hallways now." Putting distance between himself and Hunter, Archer gave him a polite smile, "I appreciate your help, but I'll be okay on my own."

Cocking his head to the side, Hunter reached down for Archer's wrist and caught it, holding him in place so he couldn't slip away. "Wait… do you mind if I eat with you?" Archer was shocked that there was nothing mocking about that question, as if he was going to offer it, and then take it away as soon as Archer agreed. Glancing back at Hunter's solemn face, Archer searched him for any signs of humor, the slightest twitch of his lips, a crease at the corner of his eye, but there was nothing but a stern expression.

Archer blinked at the man, who seemed to be changing into something else entirely right before his eyes, "You want to… eat with me? Are you sure… your friends won't mind?"

Hunter shrugged his shoulders, saying seriously, "I don't have many of those." His long fingers wrapped around Archer's wrist once more, and Archer felt himself be pulled unceremoniously behind this unusual man, who had, for some reason, been nicer to him than any other person in this building, including his cousin. "I'll show you what's edible and what's not… and where the best seats are." Throwing back a playful smile at Archer, he muttered, "Don't worry… I'll help you figure out the ins and outs of how to get through this place."

Grabbing onto Hunter's wrist, Archer helplessly laughed, "It doesn't seem too bad so far, Hunter." Archer had Hunter stop by his locker, which he'd only been to once, so he had Hunter figure out how to dial in his combination, since he was still confused on which way to turn the lock for each number. After he set his bag inside and switched out his books for his next classes, he looked through everything else he had put in there, even stretching on his toes to get a glimpse at the top shelf. An exasperated noise exhaled from his lips when he realized that he must have left his lunch bag at home, since he wasn't used to the way kids who couldn't just go upstairs and grab a snack did things. "I'm sorry, Hunter. Please… go eat, anyway. I wouldn't want to keep you from your lunch just because I don't have mine. I might take the hour to get started on homework, instead."

Hunter frowned at him, placing his hand on Archer's lower back as if he was trying to keep him from moving, "But you must be hungry." Suddenly, Hunter raised the paper bag that was clutched in his hand, and he opened it, digging through packages that crinkled and squished. "I want you to have some of mine. It's nothing great… I just packed some of the leftover soup I ate for dinner last night, and half of a sandwich." When Archer shook his head, drawing away from Hunter, the grip on the back of his shirt tightened, "Archer, I insist. I won't have you going off of an empty stomach for the next three hours. Please… eat with me."

Archer stared at the bag in Hunter's hand, feeling his mouth water at the offer of the soup and sandwich, "You won't mind? I am a little hungry. All I had for breakfast was an apple." A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth as he nodded, his warm hand nudging Archer down the hallway. "That's very nice of you. But I will you owe you for this, won't I?"

"Exactly." Hunter put in, revealing his motives for being so generous to Archer. Even though he rolled his eyes, Archer still smiled, thinking that anything was worth not having to be glared at by every student in each class he had for the rest of the day because his stomach was moaning, almost as loudly as they did about having to be in that class. "But I'll let you decide what you want to do for me… because, right now, what I want is something that I swore to never take unwillingly from you again."

Squeezing Hunter's arm tighter, Archer kept up with his lengthy strides, three of his steps matching up with one of Hunter's. Down a hallway that he hadn't been in before was a bustle of noise and commotion that whacked Archer's ears with the force of a hammer. They went into a room that was filled from wall to wall with people, all of them hyped up by the thought of filling their empty stomachs. Those in line jumped all over each other, shouting about what was being offered that day, while the kids who had already found tables were flinging food at each other. As if he had felt Archer tense up, Hunter chuckled, pulling him through a narrow pathway between two groups of kids. "Come on… let's get out of here, Archer."

Archer gladly trailed after Hunter, who brought him over to a set of doors that were fogged over from the beads of water that trickled over them. Archer laughed when Hunter turned around, grabbing his hood and pulling it over his dark curls, and he brushed his hair out of his face. He followed Hunter outside, racing after him as he pounded through the clear puddles that reflected the blacktop beneath them. "Hunter! I'm getting soaked!" He screeched, huffing with laughter as he was yanked away from the only shelter he could see for miles, until Hunter reached a small overhang that jutted out above a set of stairs that led to the basement of the building. Hunter slid to a halt under the thin covering, snatching up Archer and pulling him under its protection, his strong arms encasing him against a thrumming chest. Holding onto Hunter's shoulders as he caught his breath, Archer felt himself break into a fit of chuckles, which Hunter joined him in, his heaving body pressing Archer onto a thin ledge, his back pinned against the wall, and his front to Hunter.

Blowing out heavily, Archer watched his breath turn into a white mist that hovered in the air until a strong breeze carried it away. He balled up a fistful of his sweatshirt, squeezing out as much of the freezing water that he could, and he heard Hunter laugh at the sound of the stream of water gushing against the concrete. "You're insane." He said, pushing his hood off of his head and swiping his drenched curls off of his forehead.

"I never said that I wasn't." Hunter relented, lowering beside of Archer and holding out the bag to him. "I think the food is safe. I wrapped it up tightly. Take what you want… I don't mind."

Archer gave Hunter a cheeky smile, taking the bag from his cold fingers and greedily opening it. "Watch your mouth, Hunter. Someone might mistake you for a gentleman."

"Only when I'm around you." Hunter said softly, placing one hand on Archer's knee. His thumb rubbed a slow circle into his skin, making his entire leg buzz with heat, even though the rest of his body was shaking from the chill. "When will you return the favor, Archer?"

"And now you're being selfish again." Archer giggled, gasping softly when Hunter scooted closer to him, his dark head lowering to his shoulder. Looking down at the side of his face, he hesitantly smiled, using the hand that wasn't holding part of the sandwich to touch Hunter's dripping hair. Suddenly, a droplet of whitish water rolled over his fingertip, making Archer frown as he kept fingering through the short spikes. He touched the roots of Hunter's hair, which were a deep brown, a harsh contrast to the blondish tips. "Hunter… you have to want something besides a kiss. You were kind to me in a way that no one else was… I'd be willing to offer you anything."

Hunter raised his brows at that, tilting his face up to Archer's. "Anything?" He whispered, one of his hands lifting from his lap. He hesitated before he touched Archer's face, then kept going toward it when Archer didn't recoil from him. "Could I… touch your face?"

Archer had gotten used to not understanding Hunter, so he simply smiled, "An odd request… but, yes… you can touch my face."

Raising his head from Archer's shoulder, Hunter held up both of his hands, laying his trembling fingers on Archer's jaw. Archer jumped at how hot the rough fingers were on his icy skin, painting fire across the white canvas that was already splattered with black splotches. Hunter traced the round curve of his jaw down to his chin, smiling at the way it moved under his hands as Archer parted his lips. He dragged his fingers up to the small dip under his mouth, and then brought his fingers to Archer's red, thin lips, feeling the softness to them, how damp they were from the rain. While he used one hand to touch the tip of Archer's tiny nose, he curled his other into a loose fist, his knuckles brushing over the chubbiness to Archer's cheek. Archer helplessly closed his eyes, pressing into the tender touch that was nothing like he'd ever felt before.

His breath stuttered in his chest, and he croaked out a low noise, turning his flushed face into Hunter's calloused palm, "How can your hands be so warm?" At those words, Hunter didn't reply, but let out a ragged noise as he raised his free hand to Archer's eyes, his fingernails scraping over his thin eyelids. Archer's thick lashes fluttered against his fingertips, drawing another pained sound out of Hunter, who lifted his hand to Archer's hair and shoved his fingers through the mess of curls. Hunter bent so close to him that there was no space between them, their legs and sides pressing against each other, while he buried his face in Archer's soaked, tangled curls. When Hunter hooked his hand around one of Archer's legs, swinging it over his own so Archer was half sitting on top of him, Archer inhaled sharply, clinging to his sopping shirt with all of his might. Through the wet shirt, he felt the intense heat burning off of his muscles, which were glued to the bones underneath them. "Hunter… I can't—"

Hunter nodded his head against Archer's cheek, which was all he could reach since Archer turned his head. "Archer… tell me what you look like. Tell me your hair color… tell me how big your eyes are. Tell me if you're as pale as the moon."

Archer hated the way his fingers slid through Hunter's hair, holding his face against his as Hunter nuzzled into his cheek, his nose bumping Archer's tightly shut lids. "I-I have blue eyes…" When Hunter forcefully turned his face so their lips were only centimeters apart, he quietly peeped, only to be hushed by Hunter's grunt for him to be more specific. "D-Dark blue eyes. And I have… f-freckles. My l-lips are red… a-and thin. I have black hair." Crying out at the feeling of Hunter's powerful hands sliding under his bottom, Archer powerlessly let himself be boosted into the air and then dropped onto Hunter's lap, his arms looping around his thick neck and squeezing tightly. "Hunter… p-please…"

He didn't know what he was begging Hunter for, but whatever it was, he wanted it badly. His entire body was aching, either from the force which Hunter was touching him with, or from some internal pain, which had engulfed his entire stomach, tying it in knots and twisting those around and around. Suddenly, the pressure of those crushing arms lifted off of him, and he was unceremoniously deposited onto the spot that he'd been sitting before. When he blinked his slightly fuzzy eyes, he saw Hunter standing several feet from him, an unreadable expression on his face. "Hunter?" Archer asked softly, making a move to stand. Hunter raised one of his hands, a silent motion for him to stay still. "What is it? Did I upset you?"

Hunter's voice was as sharp as a knife, "If you come any closer to me, I won't be able to keep my promise. I've only broken one promise before, and it still kills me to this day… I don't intend to do it again. I told you to not let me ever get you alone. I've built up my self-control, kitten, but I'm still a man. And you're someone who, for some reason, makes me question myself."

Archer blinked at Hunter, feeling his eyes swell as he turned his back on him, leaving him behind in that cold, damp place. "Shit." He whispered, rubbing a tear from the corner of his eye, because he was tired of crying over this man. He told himself he wouldn't let Hunter get to him, but that was exactly what he'd done. No matter how much space he gave himself from him, a hunter's gun could always close the distance. And Hunter might have been able to shoot holes through every other body part, but Archer would make sure that his heart wouldn't be hurt by this man, even if it killed him.


	9. Wailing

Archer didn't see Hunter for the rest of the day, which made the last few hours trying for him as he tracked down that towering, dark form in the three minutes he had between every class, only to discover that, even after he retraced his steps to Hunter's favorite spot, Hunter had seemingly vanished. He wouldn't admit out loud that part of him missed the ungainly, slightly insulting man who had shown brief moments of complete adoration for Archer, but the voice in his head seemed to have no reservations about screaming it at him. This was why, when Hunter still hadn't come to him by the time the final bell rang, Archer vehemently slammed his locker shut, letting himself dunk under the waves of students who pounded into him. When he reemerged at the doors that the ocean carried him to, he separated himself from the howling wolves around him, busying his hanging hands with pulling up his hood to block out the frigid air. It was no longer raining, but the storm clouds were still gathered, shielding the watery blacktop from the sun.

Shivering when the nippy air seeped through his thin hoodie, he wrapped his arms around himself, his lowered head raising only a few inches so he could see what was ahead of him. The parking lot was still full, which made it very difficult to pick out his uncle's gray car, but then every other car went away at the revving growl of the engine of a motorcycle. After a week of living in Lima, Archer had figured out that no one owned a motorcycle, which made him turn his head to the side so he could see who was sitting on it. His jaw dropped when he saw Hunter resting against a black bike, one hand clutching a handle bar, while his other clasped a cigarette between two fingers. He lifted the cig to his lips, taking a long draw on it, and then he sucked his mouth in, holding the smoke in his cheeks for a half of a minute before he exhaled deeply. He was standing next to Archer's cousin, who seemed concerned by whatever the two were talking about.

"Hunter." Archer whispered, taking a step toward him as he stubbed the burnt out cigarette on a nearby telephone pole. He watched him grab the key that was stuck inside of his vibrating bike, twisting it to the side so his bike slowly stilled. "Hunter." He said again, his pace picking up as Hunter swung his leg over his bike, standing up from the seat. Putting a hand on his bag to keep it from sliding off of his shoulder, Archer splashed through the puddles, feeling the cold water spray the bottoms of his jeans. "Hunter!" He cried once more, finally getting his attention. Hunter raised his head from the ground, his brows appearing over the edges of his glasses, and then shoving together. Desperately lurching forward, Archer flung himself at Hunter, who stumbled backward at the sudden weight that hit him. His strong arms flew around Archer, snatching him up as Archer looped his arms around his neck, his small head burrowing beneath his chin. Clinging to the collar of Hunter's jacket, Archer pressed his face deeper into the hollow of his throat, feeling him swallow thickly. Unsure of what to say, he simply panted to get his breath back, trying to rattle his brain for an excuse about his peculiar behavior. "Hunter… you can't just walk away like that. I told you I wanted you to stay."

Hunter made a short sound, his hands lowering to Archer's back and balling up fistfuls of his damp jacket. His head bowed over Archer's, his heaving breaths moving his frizzy curls. "You also told me that I can't kiss you." He whispered in his ear, his voice so gruff to his sensitive hearing that he shuddered. "Archer, you're driving me crazy, kitten. I can't make up my mind—" He abruptly stopped speaking, and when he lifted his head from Archer's, his voice sounded very far away, "We can't do this right now." Clearing his throat, he spoke much clearer, "What were you saying, Dillon?"

Archer's cousin sounded flabbergasted, "Um…" Turning his head to the side, Archer stared at his cousin, whose eyes were blown out of proportion as he openly gaped at the way Hunter and Archer's arms were wound around each other. "Uh… Hunter, we were talking about our sleepover… the one we have every year on the first day of school. You know… that?" Scrunching his brows up, Archer let go of Hunter, feeling him release him as soon as he realized that Archer was getting flustered in front of his cousin. "Hunter… are you okay? You look really out of it."

Peeking up at Hunter's hard face, Archer watched him nod shortly. Suddenly, a protective hand returned to his waist, the entire length of his fingers and palm swallowing Archer's waist. "I'm fine, Dillon. I told you I was fine. Yeah… I can come over to your house tonight—"

"I want to come." Archer interrupted, his huge eyes flickering between both of the men, who stared at him as if he had grown antennae. "Dillon, you said that you would let me experience these things with you."

His cousin kept looking at him with that same stupefied expression, making Archer want to slug him. "Yeah… but, Archer… I meant that _we_ could do things like this together. I just don't think this is a good idea. Your dad would take you back to Paris if he found out that you slept over at my house with him there." Even though he didn't look at Hunter, Archer knew that he was referring to him. At the way that Archer rolled his eyes, Dillon made an exasperated sound, "Archer, it's not my problem that your dad's overprotective. And we can't not tell him. _My_ dads will know, and they'll never go against what your dad says—"

Hunter gave up with a frustrated grunt, once again letting go of Archer, who tried to press himself against him, "Dillon, it's not that big of a deal. Let Archer sleep over at your place tonight. We can plan another one." Patting Archer over to his cousin, he shot his gaze down to his small, worried face. After he stared at him for a moment too long, he glanced back up at Dillon, who had set a firm hand on Archer's shoulder. "I'll see you later, Dil." With that last comment, he whipped away from the two of them. He threw his leg over the seat of his bike, sitting down hard as he keyed the engine into an uproar one last time. As he turned his bike out of its parking spot, Dillon stepped back with his cousin, giving him space to leave. Archer heard his cousin start to chatter on about how much fun the night was going to turn out to be, but the words fell on ears that were deafened by the rumble of that motorcycle.

It wasn't until hours later, sometime near the middle of the night, when Archer realized what a dreadful mistake he'd made to quickly bolt into his house to spew out what he could about his first day of school, but still keep some of it to himself, and then grab a stuffed bag of his clothes and toothbrush, and then run back out to his uncle's car, smiling as if he was actually excited about the awful night he hadn't known was coming. Within the first hour of staying at his cousin's house, he'd nearly been bored to tears when Dillon had sat him and his book bag down at the coffee table, spreading his books out over the surface of it. Archer had stared at those books as if they were on fire, watching his cousin flip to the first page of his math notes, and hearing him tell him that even though the homework wasn't due for another week, he would forget about it if he didn't do it right away.

After a while of watching his cousin doodle tiny graphs, then redo entire pages of work because he got one part of the problem wrong, Archer had slunk off to the kitchen to grab a bite to eat. Unfortunately, there wasn't much offered since both of Dillon's parents worked, and Dillon was now at school for the majority of the day, which left Archer's stomach gurgling after a couple of nibbles on a banana. It was a relief when Dillon finally sauntered into the kitchen, bragging about how he'd gotten his work finished, and how he would undoubtedly get high grades on everything because he'd checked over it more than once, and Archer had silently followed his cousin up to his bedroom. His cousin had then started up his game station, which Archer had looked forward to since he didn't have one of his own. Because Dillon only had one controller, he had made a deal with Archer that after one of the bad guys killed either of them, they would switch so the other could play, but Archer had soon realized that his cousin had become so engrossed in the game that he seemed to forget that, even more important than the bad guys on the screen, Archer was still there. Archer had even asked his cousin if he could have a try at it, only to be barked at that the bad guy had pulled a cheap shot at him, and he felt that he needed to avenge himself.

As much as Archer tried to be enthusiastic for his cousin, he lost interest after the tenth kill, and eventually leaned his head back against the side of the bed, his eyes gazing up at the ceiling, counting the specks. His cousin had remained in that hunched over, squatted position for the rest of the night, occasionally shouting at the TV, but had quickly quieted down as soon as his dad came up the stairs, saying that it was a school night, and that it was time to shut off the game system. Jaded to the point of senselessness, Archer had happily climbed into bed beside of his cousin, having heard stories about other sleepovers, in which, after the lights went off, the whispers started passing from ear to ear. Archer looked forward to whatever secrets his cousin wanted to relay to him, privately hoping that at least one of them was about Hunter, who was a closed book to Archer.

He felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach when, after a few minutes of waiting for his cousin to roll closer to him so he could press his lips to his ear, he instead heard the faint sounds of snoring. No matter how tired he was, or how firmly he pressed his face into the pillow beneath him, sleep evaded all of his desperate grabs, leaving him facing away from his cousin, scrunched to the edge of the bed to get away from Dillon's kicking feet. He started to scoot off of the bed so he could go down to the kitchen and grab a glass of water, if only to pass some time to the point that he reached complete exhaustion and just passed out, but before he could lift the upper half of his body so he was in a sitting position, a tapping sound caused him pause. Alarmed, he snapped his head to the side, his eyes widening to the size of saucers at the sight of a dark figure outside of the window.

He opened his mouth so he could scream for his uncles, but then his slightly fuzzy vision cleared up on the man's face, bringing out his individual features. Closing his mouth, Archer shook his head in disbelief, pushing the blankets off of his legs as he rose from the bed, his feet thumping the cold floor. "Hunter?" He whispered, scurrying over to the window. Separated from him only by a glass wall, Archer flipped a latch at the top of the window, and he watched Hunter grab the bottom of it, pushing it up enough for him to lift his body inside. He sat down on the sill, giving Archer a funny smirk as he gaped at him, slack jawed. "Hunter! Are you crazy?" Suddenly flinging his arms around Hunter, Archer gasped when his body tipped over, so he quickly dragged him back in.

Hunter let out a ragged noise, setting one of his feet down to give himself more balance. He sealed his arms around Archer, carefully rocking him back and forth. "Are you still trying to kill me, little kitten? You're doing a very good job." Blowing out heavily, Hunter bundled Archer closer to him, rubbing his face through his hair when he felt him quiver at the cold breeze that he was letting in. "How many times do I have to tell you that I'm absolutely mad before you'll finally believe me?" He drew back from Archer, a gentle look on his face as he raised his hand to his hair, brushing his heavy curls off of his forehead. Archer closed his eyes, pressing into Hunter's tender hand. "I thought you might want some company. I know Dillon always falls asleep early."

Archer softly giggled into Hunter's palm, lifting his hands and grabbing two of his fingers in each one. He held him there so he couldn't put his hand back down. "You can't stay here, Hunter. We have to be quiet or else we'll wake Dillon up."

A devious smirk crooked the corner of his lips, and he nodded his head at the open window, one brow quirking, "So, let's get out of here."

Following the way that Hunter had cocked his head, Archer looked out into the pitch black. It was so dark out that he couldn't see more than ten feet of grass outside of the window. Suddenly looking back at Hunter when his long arms wound around his waist and butt, Archer placed his hands on his shoulders, holding him tightly. "But where would we go?" Archer pleaded to know, feeling Hunter slowly lift his body into the lee of his thighs.

"Relax." Hunter said softly, taking Archer's clenching fists into his hands and squeezing them. "Kitten, relax your hands. You're going to pull my shoulders out of their sockets." As he spoke, he slid his other leg over the ledge, leaving both of them suspended over a long drop that made Archer claw anxiously at his back. His legs slipped against Hunter's, so Hunter quickly hooked an arm under his bottom, giving him support. "Do you trust me enough to let me jump? I've done it a thousand times before, if that's any suffice. But you can't panic, sweetheart, or else I might lose my grip on you. I promise you that I would never let you get hurt."

Tucking his face into Hunter's neck, Archer cautiously peered down at the ground, which seemed too far away for either of them to land securely on it. He knew that if he went home with a broken leg, his daddy wouldn't hesitate to ship him and his booted foot all the way back to Paris the next day. "Are you sure that nothing bad will happen?" He whispered as quietly as the squeak of a mouse, and at the sound of Hunter's chuckling, he lifted his huge eyes to his face, which was nothing but confident.

"I'm sure, Archer." Hunter grabbed both of Archer's legs and wrapped them around his waist, and then he lowered his hands to his back and butt. Seizing Hunter's neck in a tight hold, Archer gasped when he felt him shift again, pressing his face into a shirt that had such a familiar smell to it, that of cigarettes and the most bitter of coffee. "You're alright, kitten. I've got you. I won't let you go."

After those few words of reassurance, Hunter pushed off from the sill, and suddenly all that Archer had was the man who had encased him in his strong arms, protecting him from the impact at the bottom. Wind rushed all around him, making him burrow closer to Hunter in an attempt to have something to rely on, since his feet had given out on him. Making a startled sound when Hunter hit the ground, stumbling backwards to catch his balance, Archer blinked his squinted eyes, glancing around the two of them at the greenery that was once again beneath them. Even though he knew he could have let go of Hunter and safely planted his feet on the cool grass, he couldn't make himself detach, his arms still locked around his neck.

Realizing that Archer was stuck, Hunter laughed lowly, reaching back for his trembling hands and unhooking them from his neck. He lowered them to Archer's sides, but kept his fingers wrapped around Archer's. "You're okay now, Archer. It's over, sweetheart. We're on the ground." When Hunter stepped back from him, Archer quickly followed, holding his arms out once more. Hunter chuckled, but, to Archer's surprise, it didn't sound like a snort of derision. Instead, his arms returned to Archer's body, bundling him up around his waist. "This way, kitten. I have something I want to show you."

Wrinkling a brow at Hunter's determined face, Archer trotted beside of the man with legs a foot too long. As they turned onto another street, distancing themselves from the place that Archer was supposed to be, he opened his mouth and let out a shaky sound. "Hunter?" He mumbled, getting a nod of acknowledgement from him. "Hunter… why is it that you call me kitten?"

That question drew a funny smirk onto his lips. Before he answered, he tightened his arm around Archer's waist, pulling him even closer to himself. "Don't make mockery of me." He warned, making Archer ruffle his brows as he wondered what could have Hunter so sheepish. "I don't remember who sang it to me… but, when I was young, I used to hear this beautiful voice singing this lullaby to me. It was about a playful kitten who was too rambunctious to go to bed. You remind me of that kitten… you're very determined to have your way, but in getting there, you can be nothing more than a pestering nuisance."

Somehow, Hunter made those harsh words into phrases of endearment, which made Archer, somewhat flattered that Hunter compared him to a good thing of his childhood, blush. "I know the lullaby you're talking about. My _père_ used to sing it to me when I was a baby. I was very fussy, bothersome child… but my parents always made that out to be a good thing. I think they loved how stubborn I was." Leaning closer to Hunter, Archer let his eyes fall shut as his lips parted just enough for a few breaths of air to escape, making the soft melody to his favorite thing to listen to as he drifted off.

When he opened his eyes again, he found Hunter staring down at him, an amused, but gentle, look on his face. Reaching down for Hunter's hand, Archer touched the back of it, glad when Hunter instantly turned it over, lacing their fingers together. "You have a beautiful voice." Hunter told him, making Archer giggle lightly.

"I come from a musical family." He admitted, swinging their hands back and forth. "My parents tell me the same… but I'd much rather dance. But… thank you."

Hunter grinned down at him, and then he turned his face forward when they came to a vacated road that was mostly made up of a thin layer of gravel and broken blacktop. "We're almost there. We just have to go through these woods." He took Archer off of the main pathway and across a grassy yard, slipping in between two tree trunks that gave way to mushy dirt and weeds. When Archer slipped over a damp rock, Hunter instantly turned around and lifted him by his hips, half carrying him for the rest of the trek through the mucky woods. "Do you see that tree up ahead? The one with the wide trunk?"

Archer nodded his head, placing his hands on Hunter's shoulders when he boosted him up higher, dropping him onto his back. Feeling a little awkward as he lay limply over Hunter, who cupped handfuls of his butt to keep him from sliding off, Archer remained silent, feeling Hunter move like a panther over the logs and twigs. He never got hung on one bush, and he was never slowed down by sticky mud. "I've climbed that tree a hundred times. I found it when I was a child. I hung a swing from the very top. It won't hold me anymore, but I think you can sit in it."

Looking up as high as he could, Archer narrowed his eyes at the glare of the moon, which whited out his vision. "We're going up the tree?"

Hunter nodded his head, approaching the base of the tree and digging his nails in. Archer saw other small slits where he must have grabbed on before. "Just hold onto me. You don't have to be nervous. I can't let you fall, Archer." Lassoing Hunter's waist with his legs, Archer stared at the nape of his neck, feeling his toned muscles shifting under him as Hunter kicked off the ground. Hunter was very lithe as he climbed, not losing his hold on the jagged bark even for a moment. He kept a steady pace, despite the extra weight he was carrying. Although Archer became dizzy when he tilted his head toward the ground, he knew that he couldn't be safer than he was with Hunter.

Within minutes, Hunter finally reached out to one of the thicker limbs, stretching his arms out as he lunged from the trunk onto the shaking branch. Archer inhaled sharply, feeling himself tip backwards, and then rock forwards, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself sitting in between Hunter's legs. Hunter had wrapped himself completely around Archer, as if he knew that if he let go, Archer would lean too far one way and fall. "You're safe, kitten." Hunter whispered in his ear, one hand raising to his hair, which was a wild mess after going through the rain, and now after being caught in more than one tree. "What do you think of my world? I only have one place that's more important to me than this."

Archer turned his head from Hunter's shirt, giving himself the courage to stare out at the suddenly small world around them. Everything looked so distant, and he realized how high up they were, just the two of them separated from all that was below. "It's amazing." He murmured, twisting around to get a full view of the earth that was under them. Down in the patches of weeds, he'd been blind to the tiny creatures that buzzed in and out, zooming from plant to plant. Every now and then, a darkened creature would scurry from one hiding place to another. "Hunter… this is wonderful." Turning his head to the side, Archer raised his brows at the man beside of him, watching him look down at the ground with an observant expression. He was aware of everything, alert to the most minute shuffle of leaves. Suddenly, Archer's stomach rolled the same way it had when they were in Hunter's secret spot that he saved for himself at school, and he scooted closer to him. His skin burned wherever it brushed Hunter's, and when he laid his fingers over Hunter's muscular hand, he felt his heart thump violently. "Why did you take me up here? Do you take others here? Or is this another special place to you?"

"It's only been me up here." Hunter said automatically, looking back at Archer with the same expression that he had the ground below, one of intent studying. Flipping his hand upside down, he snatched Archer's in his. "I don't know why I brought you here. You remind me of someone I knew a long time ago." Abruptly, Hunter's throat moved with a thick swallow, and he tilted his head to the side. Archer's heart picked up as Hunter moved closer to him, not a very far distance to close since Archer was clasped between his thighs. Batting his lashes until they were limp against his cheeks, Archer parted his lips, breathing in sharply as the whiff of cigarettes hit his face.

Quietly whimpering when a powerful arm wound around him, drawing him into a better position for Hunter to reach his face, Archer whispered in a voice so soft he couldn't hear himself above the chirping crickets. "You can kiss me now, Hunter. I want you to." That was all the encouragement Hunter needed to clasp Archer tightly against his chest, his head lowering over his. They both released low sounds at the first taste they really got of each other, Archer's mouth like cool mint, since he'd recently brushed his teeth, and Hunter's like a smoky cigarette. Sliding his tongue through his rows of teeth, Hunter flicked the tip of it across Archer's bottom lip, which quickly lowered so he could let him in. As Hunter licked through his small, pearly teeth, Archer raised his shaking arms, looping them around his neck. He tangled his fingers in his short hair, pulling at the blond strands. Hunter grunted lowly, dragging Archer closer to himself, closer than Archer had ever been to anyone before.

At the new angle that Hunter placed him in, Archer had to lower his hand, his fingertips scratching over the rough material of Hunter's jacket. He laid his palm over his chest, feeling Hunter's heart pounding just as rapidly as his own. He hadn't known that he could do that to a man. Tilting his head back, Archer let out the softest moan, which made Hunter press his lips firmer. He was so warm and damp on Archer's lips, his tongue tracing the interior of his mouth, the bumpy roof of it, the tip of his own tongue. With one last nudge, Hunter drew away with a pop of their lips, and Archer flushed when he realized that they were still connected by a strand of saliva. "I'm scared." Archer suddenly blurted, his voice still breathy and high pitched as he tried to come down from the toe curling high he'd just reached.

Hunter ran a tender hand through his frizzy curls, leaning down so he could press another kiss to the tip of his nose. "Of me?" He asked against his skin, his buzzing lips making Archer wrinkle his nose.

Archer shook his head, reaching up for Hunter's face and pulling it back down to his own. As their lips touched, he hummed one last thing before his thoughts were pulled down into the blackest depths of the ocean, "Of my feelings for you." Hunter brought his body back against his, his grip so strong that Archer knew that he could never get away, not that he was fighting to anymore.


	10. Savin' Me

Archer remembered waking up to the sounds of his parents' soft voices calling his name. Sometimes his _père_ would giggle at a particularly funny tendril of hair that was sticking up, and then his warm hand would thread through the curls, smoothing them back into place. He remembered first peeking his eyes open and squinting at the dark figures that hovered above them, their arms stretched out to him as they urged him up from bed so he could get a few bites in his empty belly. He remembered how excited he became, despite how typical the routine, to see his parents sitting at the edge of the bed, still rumpled and dazed from their own night of sleep, and usually holding onto each other as they stroked and whispered their son awake. This was how Archer felt when he came to at the gruff mutters in his ear, some of them his name, and others assuring him that it was okay, that it was just him. Who was him?

At the feeling of his body shifting, he peeled one lid up, peering cautiously at the blackened face that was a few inches above his. As he stared up at that unidentifiable head, he opened his mouth with a gasp when his body slid. A pair of arms quickly lassoed around him, though, pinning him to the strong chest that he realized was beneath him. Balling up fistfuls of a crumpled shirt, Archer turned his head to the side, his eyes widening at the sight of nothing but shadowy tree limbs beside him, and under him. "Shh… Archer, sweetheart… don't panic." A raspy voice muttered in his ear, making his head snap back around to the man that he was resting on top of. When he moved his head to a certain angle, Archer caught a glimpse of him through the streak of light that splattered across his hollow face. "It's me, kitten. I've got you. I have to take you back to Dillon's house before the sun comes up."

Mortified at the thought that he had fallen asleep at some time in the last few hours, Archer lowered his head, feeling his body raise as Hunter sat up. A rough sound broke out of him as he stretched his back, which must have been cramping from the way he was hunched forward. Archer blinked at his expressionless face, watching him scrub one of his palms over his stubbly cheeks, while his other remained on Archer's lower back. After Hunter yawned and rolled his popping shoulders, he placed both of his hands on Archer's back, moving his stiff body around so one of his arms was hooked under his bottom, and his other was placed at the middle of his back. As Hunter brought himself into a sitting position, Archer automatically wrapped both of his arms around his neck, wondering how they would get down. Pressed so close to Hunter's body, which radiated heat, even in the bitter cold of the dead of a fall night, Archer helplessly purred, cuddling deeper into the folds of his jacket. He felt Hunter's body vibrate with a chuckle, "Selfish boy, I am not your personal heater."

Archer shut his eyes, letting his hands crawl under his thick jacket. They were immediately encased in a sweltering heat that almost made them sweat. He shuddered at the delicious tingle that rolled from the tips of his fingers down to his elbows. "You're so w-warm. I get cold easily." Pressing his cheek against Hunter's chest, Archer ignored the way Hunter jerked suddenly, swinging himself off of the limb they'd been sitting on and down to the one below it. He went down to the next one, which didn't rattle quite so much, before he paused, grabbing both of Archer's dangling legs and hooking them around his waist.

"I'm going to drop a few feet, kitten. Don't be startled." Securing one of his hands on Archer's thighs to keep them from swinging off at the force that was about to push against them, Hunter fearlessly let go of the branch that he was hanging off of. Archer's eyes popped open when he felt the security of something to keep him from falling go away once more, but this drop wasn't nearly as far as the one from the bedroom window. Hunter hit the ground within seconds, instantly backing up so he could lean against the trunk of a tree. Once he had his footing back, he peeled Archer off of his front, but laughed when the shaking boy staggered forward, desperately holding his arms out. "It's okay, Archer. We don't have to jump anymore."

He opened his arms for Archer, who snuggled against him, both for the heat that was sopping off of his skin, and for the protection that he offered inside of the unbreakable clasp of his arms. Very unlike himself, Hunter went about pushing Archer's unmanageable curls off of his forehead, and then pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up. Mostly warm now, Archer sleepily cuddled into Hunter, a small yawn parting from his lips. Suddenly, his body was once again lifted from the ground, and when he opened his eyes, he found himself cradled in Hunter's arms, like how a husband would hold his bride, and he blushed furiously. "Put me down." He pleaded, frantically kicking his feet. "I can walk on my own."

"You can." Hunter agreed, reverting back to the way he spoke to Archer when they first met. "But I'm not going to put you down, kitten. Lay your head on my chest. Try to go to sleep. I'll have you at Dillon's house in ten minutes."

Frowning, Archer slowly stopped wriggling around, giving in to the strength in Hunter's hold on him. Archer certainly wasn't the lightest weight to carry, but Hunter hadn't released a single pant, or had to shift Archer around to a position that was more comfortable on his straining arms. Hunter acted as if he was a light feather. Determined to remain leaning away from Hunter to put less weight on him, Archer huffed when Hunter pressed him closer, making him clunk his head against one of his collarbones. Even though he didn't want to, Archer gave in to the ease that he felt when he was smothered in Hunter's body, and he let himself be consumed by his fiery skin, nodding off as he forgot about how cold he really was.

It seemed much later when Archer found himself staring up at faint shadows through bleary eyes once more. He reached up for the black figure standing above him, making a soft noise of encouragement for Hunter to return his warm body to him. "Shh…" was the only answer he got in return, as Hunter lifted his feet so he could drag the blanket out from under him. He raised it over Archer's body, draping it over him with such care, as if he was a fragile diamond that he was covering with a sheet to keep it hidden. Although his freezing feet were satiated by the hug of the blanket, Archer realized that nothing was warmer than Hunter, so he lifted his arms once more, snagging his fingers in the collar of his shirt. Hunter laughed lowly, kneeling down beside of the bed and taking Archer's hands in his. He tenderly plucked his fingers off of his stretched collar, kissing the tips of them one by one as they raised. "It's okay… You'll see me in a couple of hours. I won't go anywhere for long."

Seeing Hunter frown at some unknown thought, Archer lifted his heavy head from the pillow, only to have Hunter place his hand on it, threading his fingers through his curls as he lowered it back to the bubble of fluff. "Shh…" he urged once more, scraping his oval nails over Archer's sensitive scalp. A tangle of hair hung onto his finger, so Hunter worked the knot out, then laid the curl across the white pillow, the only streak of color on it. "I have to go, kitten. Your cousin will be up soon."

"Don't go." Archer whispered, his voice so high pitched that it sounded like a bell ringing. Hunter's frown deepened, and then he wiped his face clear of expression as he bent over Archer, placing a single, soft kiss on the center of his forehead. His lips drifted down the middle of Archer's face, and then paused on his lips, where he pressed a chaste kiss that set Archer's nerves to flames. "Hunter." He said against his mouth, quietly whimpering as Hunter pulled away, his body turning from him. Grabbing for the back of his shirt, Archer helplessly watched, devastated, as Hunter walked away. His form became nothing more than a silhouette, outlined by the shine of the moon, by the time he got to the window, which he swung his legs out of. Hunter gave him one lasting look before he dropped to the ground, a look that, despite the fact that he couldn't see his eyes, he knew that they had met. "Hunter." He chirped softly, and then Hunter was gone.

* * *

><p>Archer dragged himself through most of the morning, giving up on making himself look presentable even after a long, steaming shower that only seemed to make his hair frizzier. His pale face was washed out, and bags circled his dull eyes, so he figured that readying himself was a hopeless cause that only two bottles of moisturizer and ten of conditioner could fix. Unfortunately, his family seemed to notice the way he tiredly slumped around the house, but other than Dillon asking if he'd had a good night of sleep or if he kicked him one too many times for him to drift off, no one questioned. It wasn't until his uncle turned the car into the parking lot of the school that Archer sat up, squaring back his shoulders and tilting his head forward as he looked out the window, his eyes flickering around for that blond head. This also made his cousin raise an inquisitive brow at him, but this time he remained silent. With a brief parting from his cousin, who had to walk around to the other side of the school to get to his first class, Archer hurried into his side of the building, not even bothering to stop at his locker to unload some of the weight that his shoulder smarted against lugging around.<p>

Pretending that it was only him in the crowded hallways, Archer pushed through the crowds of people idly standing at their lockers. Anxious to know if he had actually shown or not, or if he had backed out because he thought that last night was a mistake that had brought them, two people from completely different sides of life, too close together, Archer reached his English classroom and hesitated just steps away from it. If Hunter was in there, Archer didn't have a clue of what he would say to him. But there was also a chance that he wouldn't be, and Archer had his plan even less thought out for that scenario. He didn't want to say that he would be upset if the next few minutes told him whether or not he would ever be able to smile at Hunter again, but part of him knew that he would. In a matter of hours, even less than a whole day, Hunter had gone from being his worst enemy to his closest friend, even over his cousin.

Taking a shaky breath, Archer reached down for the door handle, but before he could push it down and pull the door open a few cracks, another hand, with the strength of steel, closed over his. Archer gasped, staring down at that hand with a pair of huge eyes, before he recognized the tanned shade of the skin that was pulled tight over thick bones. "Hunter." He mumbled, whipping his head over his shoulder and gazing up at that sardonic face as if he'd never seen it before. "Hunter!" He blurted again, hearing Hunter's rough chuckle as he flung his arms around his neck. "You're here."

"At school, I know. What a surprising place for us to meet." Archer had never been so happy to hear that sarcastic taunting. Giggling, Archer squeezed Hunter tighter to himself, pushing his nose into the warm fabric of his fresh, clean shirt. He already smelled like cigarettes, and it wasn't even eight yet. "I take it that you missed me. It's been so long already, hasn't it? At least three hours." When Archer turned his shining eyes up to his face, he found Hunter already grinning down at him, an adoring look on his face. "I missed you, too, kitten… even though my back didn't. It's still stiff." As he made a show of twisting his back from side to side, Hunter reached down for the door handle, flipping it down. He kicked the door open, then placed his hand on Archer's waist, nudging him in.

The rest of the class had already found their favorite spots, and Archer noticed that some of the groups had switched around, but he was fine with staying right at Hunter's side. Hunter followed him back to the seats they'd taken yesterday, and, as Archer lowered into his, Hunter leaned over to say something to him, but was interrupted by the door swinging open one last time, and the bellowing sound of their teacher's voice. "Get in your seats." He demanded, slouching over to the front of the room, where Archer knew he would give a brief speech before he retreated back to his desk. There was no wondering why he had never won an award for being the greatest teacher. "Thank you to the students who turned in their slips for the trip. It helps planning go much easier. I will be passing out an itinerary and list of what to bring. You should go over those ahead of time. For those of you who know for certain that you are going on the trip, you will be able to pick who you will be rooming with today. The cabins can only hold up to three people, so unless you want to room with someone you don't know, get your slips in soon! Also keep in mind that we are going on this trip with my other English class. You can also pick to room with someone from there."

As soon as he'd gotten out the few words he was going to say for the entire class period, Lumbly started digging through his papers for the other forms about the trip. Sitting back, Archer helplessly glanced around the room at the other students, all of whom he didn't know and would probably never get to know. Most of them were already chatting about who was rooming with who, and he saw more than one disappointed face, which meant that he would most likely end up staring awkwardly at one of those sad faces, introducing himself as the roommate who they would forever know as their second choice. When Hunter received his papers, he mindlessly shuffled through them, not reading over any of them. The noise he was making drew Archer's attention back to him, and he pushed his lips to the side of his face, knowing that whatever cabin Hunter was staying in probably already had a waiting list. Suddenly, Hunter raised his head from the papers, turning it this way and that, the same as what Archer had done. A frown creased his bottom lip as he picked up on conversations of girls and guys who had had this trip and their roommates planned out for months now.

Before Archer could ask him who he was rooming with, though, Lumbly stood back up, another piece of paper in his hands. "I'm going to call out names. If you know who you're rooming with, I'll mark it down." The names were listed off in alphabetical order, and each one was followed by one or two people who excitedly called out that they were rooming together. While Archer knew that his three cousins were in the other English class, he was certain that Beth thought of him as the last person she would want to room with, and that his youngest was probably already grouped with a couple of other girls. He couldn't even say Dillon's name, since he was sure that Dillon had friends before he came along. When it came down to his name, all Archer could do was flush as he muttered that he didn't have anyone to room with. Lumbly automatically marked him into a column of names that he would divide into makeshift groups. Archer heaved a sigh, listening to nearly the entire class brag about the fact that they had best friends, while the one friend that Archer was supposed to have, his cousin, had spent less time with him than even his own best friend did.

Hunter's last name was near the middle of the alphabet, but there were still few kids with names after his, so he was one of the last to go. Glimpsing over at him when his name was called, Archer pathetically watched him remain silent for a second, as if he was going through a list of people in his head. But, to Archer's surprise, when Hunter finally lifted his head, he shrugged a shoulder and muttered that he didn't have anyone to room with. Archer stared at him as if he had just sprouted wings. Even though he must have felt Archer's gaping eyes on him, Hunter wouldn't look over at him, almost as if he was ashamed that he, like Archer, didn't have a single friend to rely on.

When Lumbly got to the end of the list, he scrolled over the paper once more and started on the column of kids who still weren't in groups. He marked them off by threes, and Archer heard more than one groan of anguish, sounds that Lumbly didn't care quite enough to try to quiet down. Still staring at Hunter as he wondered how he wasn't the most well liked kid in school, since he was so confident and sure of himself, Archer turned away from him when Lumbly called out his name once more, putting him in a group of boys who made very clear their dislike of the group they'd been forced into. "W-Wait." Archer suddenly said, his eyes blowing out of proportion when he realized what he'd just done. Lumbly's eyes appeared over the edge of the paper, looking at him as if he was the most boring creature on the entire planet. "Mr. Lumbly… I'd like to room with Hunter."

Even though he wasn't looking at him, Archer knew that Hunter's head had snapped up so quickly that he nearly gave himself whiplash. Lumbly simply nodded his head, scratching Archer out of that group and switching him over to his own column with Hunter's name on top of his. As soon as Lumbly moved on to the next group of names, Archer hesitantly shifted his huge eyes over to Hunter, who was looking at him with a funny expression. He looked dumbstruck, something he'd never been before, and it almost made Archer laugh, had he not been so nervous that Hunter might reject his offer to room with him. Abruptly, Hunter's mouth opened, and, to Archer's relief, he only had one word for him, one that wasn't _no._ "Why?" He asked, even his voice giving a tone of uncertainty.

Archer helplessly shrugged his shoulders, "I can't tell you why, Hunter." He tilted his head to the side, a strand of hair swinging across his forehead. "All I know is that I want to spend time with you." Pulling a smile onto a corner of his lips, he reached out for the papers that were hanging from Hunter's limp hand and tugged them free. "Do you want to come over to my house tomorrow night? You can eat dinner with me and my family… then we can pack for the trip. Bring over some of your clothes. I can decide what outfits would be best to bring on a camping trip." At the strange look that Hunter gave him, Archer smirked, "My parents have always told me that I got my two left feet from my daddy, but my knack for fashion from my _père._ I don't always use my abilities for the greater good, but I know that gray should never be worn when you have hair so blond." Teasingly reaching out for Hunter's messy hair, Archer ran his fingers through the spiky locks, and he laughed when Hunter pouted, pushing them back up once again.

Humored by Archer's unexpected abilities, since he'd only ever been around Archer when his hair was a bedraggled ball of curls, or his body was swallowed by a thick sweatshirt that reached the middle of his thighs, or his feet were pushed into a pair of plain sneakers, Hunter chuckled, shaking his head at how ridiculous he was being. Playfully reaching out for Archer's face, Hunter cupped his chin in his hand, "Do you know what you got yourself into by choosing to room with me?" Archer's eyes widened to the size of saucers, and he nervously giggled, watching Hunter lean so close to him that he could smell the faint hint of cigarettes on his breath. "You had better hope you're the first one asleep, you naïve, foolish kitten."

Archer smiled at Hunter, trying to keep his composure, even though he could feel his face heating up as Hunter put his face so near to his that the tips of their noses bumped. "Shouldn't I want to stay awake longer than you do? If you're the last one awake, then you can ravish me while I sleep."

The smirk on Hunter's face widened, "I wouldn't do such a thing. What makes you think so lowly of me? Unless you giggle the way that you are right now, I will remain as more than a man at his primal instincts." Sliding his mouth against Archer's red ear, he mumbled very quietly, "I snore… very loudly." Feeling his jaw drop at the way that Hunter had messed with him, Archer pulled away from him, swatting him across the arm. Hunter burst into laughter, grabbing Archer's whacking hands and dropping them onto his lap, while he used his other hand to wrap around Archer's back. Realizing that Hunter was trying to hug him, Archer instantly stilled his arms, and he felt Hunter envelope his other around him when he figured out that he could safely release Archer. "You're perfect, kitten." He murmured, those few words making Archer twitch with something that was between unease and comfort.

"I'm not perfect." He argued, but Hunter shook his head.

"No, you are." That soft voice insisted, not a string of doubt threaded through it. "No one's ever given me the kind of friendship that you have… not even your cousin. I promise that I'll never take you for granted. You're like a diamond to me… you're too valuable for me to just let you go."

Smiling, Archer laid his head on Hunter's shoulder, his voice coming out so quietly that he didn't even hear himself. "I don't want to be like a diamond, Hunter. I want to be your kitten." At those words, Hunter squeezed him so tightly that Archer knew that he would be in unbearable pain if he tried to pull away, so all he could do was sink closer, like a kitten rubbing against the thing it was firmly marking as its own.


	11. Cynical

Author's note: Hi, guys! I know it's been a while since I've replied to most of you, but I promise to get around to it soon (maybe this weekend.) I've had a really busy schedule. Halloween weekend was crazy because I went to three Halloween parties, which reminds me that I have to tell you guys Happy Belated Halloween! This morning I got up at six to schedule for my next semester, and then I have an exam two hours later. I've had papers to write, and math homework to cry my way through :P So, for those of you not in college yet, believe me that college will be fun! I have two more chapters to post tonight, so I hope you enjoy them!

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><p>"Pretty kitten." Archer hadn't expected Hunter to stay away for long, but he still gasped with surprise when a strong pair of arms looped around his waist, playfully rocking him back and forth. Giggling at the way Hunter nuzzled his face into his hair, as if sniffing the strong scent of strawberry shampoo, Archer turned his head to the side. His eyes widened to the size of saucers when his nose bumped into not any of the features on Hunter's face, but the ticklish petals of a pink daisy. "Do you like it?" Hunter croaked lowly in his ear, still holding the flower up as Archer openly gaped at it, unable to move any part of his body. "I thought that if I was going to be having dinner with you, I ought to get you something to thank you."<p>

Archer blinked his dry eyes, refreshing them with a thin coat of moisture. Shaking his head from side to side, he unscrewed his tight jaw, "I… I… Hunter, it's beautiful. I've always loved flowers. But… what are you thanking me for? It's just dinner with my family. I figured you might be hungry… what with you coming over for a few hours." Taking the flower from Hunter's fingers, he turned his body around, feeling Hunter's arms slide around his waist. Hunter had already exchanged his books for what he must have been bringing over to Archer's house tonight, a black duffel bag that looked very deflated.

Hunter placed his fingers under Archer's chin, raising his head so his eyes met the glint of Hunter's dark sunglasses. "You silly kitten, what about you should I not be entirely grateful for? Don't tell me that you have a mole, sweetheart, because that might just be a deal breaker."

Laughing, Archer kicked at Hunter's legs, making him move back a few steps so Archer could return to his locker, shuffling through his books and deciding what homework he needed to take home and what he could jot over during one of his study halls. "No moles… but I do have a very eccentric family who you are about to sit down and share a meal with. You've only seen them when they were worn out after a plane ride. I don't think you really know what to expect of what will undoubtedly be the craziest dinner you've ever had. The good thing is that my _père_ can make a mouthwatering lasagna."

"That sounds delicious." Hunter said lowly, already salivating at the thought of having a big dinner after eating a packed lunch that had gone cold. "And I think I can handle your family."

"My _père_ and uncle, certainly. My uncle won't mind you, and my _père_ is easy to get along with." Smirking up at Hunter, Archer closed his locker, one brow quirking. "My daddy won't be fooled by your smooth talk, though. As long as you are alone with me, he won't give up his stink eye on you. He was fine with you as my cousin's best friend, but definitely not as mine." Hunter chuckled at that, mindlessly reaching down for Archer's hand, only to be swatted away. "No… you can't touch me at all in front of them… especially not my daddy. My _père_ might approve of you, but he was the biggest gossip in France. He'll likely hold the same title here. He would tell my daddy about everything he saw… and maybe even exaggerate the story."

As if provoked by the challenge set in front of him, Hunter turned his head down to him, a cocky smile flipping up his lips. "I've always had a way to get whatever I want, Archer. I'm fairly confident that by the end of the night, even if I went so far to ask your dad for permission to take your hand in marriage, he'd give it to me on a silver platter."

A smile twitched at Archer's lips, "You've never been told no, have you? I suppose you haven't met a man quite as bullheaded as my daddy, then."

After Hunter took Archer's bag from him and swung it over his free shoulder, they walked out of the school side by side, Hunter for once silenced by something that made him uneasy. Archer had been waiting for the day when he could practically see the wheels turning in his head, and it made him chuckle to himself as he wondered if Hunter was imagining all of the ways his daddy could serve him on a platter. Just as Archer took a step in the direction of Hunter's leaning motorcycle, a hand came to the collar of his shirt, pulling him back to Hunter's side. "I'd rather walk you to your house." He said quickly, making Archer raise a high brow at him. Hunter shook his head, spreading his hands out on either side of him. "It's not a bad day to just take the sidewalks. Besides, I feel like I wouldn't stand a chance with your dad if I pulled up on a motorcycle."

For some reason, Archer didn't feel like he was being given the whole truth from Hunter, who had held out a handful of lame excuses, but he let the subject of the motorcycle drop. It wasn't like it was even his place to demand that Hunter drive him around on it. Instead, he and Hunter took an extra ten minutes to get back to his house by walking along the bumpy, rough sidewalks, most of them reduced to pieces of gravel and dirt. Hunter was right that it was a decent day to just take a stroll, one of the last few warm days they would have before the rainy days of fall brought with them a wall of cold clouds that blocked out the hot sun. Archer slowed a few steps behind Hunter as he stepped on each crunchy leaf, like he used to when he and his _père_ would window shop through the streets of France, and when Hunter realized what he was doing, he came to a stop and held his arm out for Archer. He chuckled when Archer scurried back to his side, tucking himself against him.

By the time they reached the paved surface of his driveway, Archer had crushed his hundredth leaf, so he finally picked up his pace. On the way to the front door, he saw two small forms sitting in the grass, wings fanned out and flapping every so often as they bathed in the bright sunshine. "Pavarotti! Everett!" He cried, hurrying away from Hunter's side so he could pick up his birds, who his _père_ must have let out so they could get some fresh air blowing through their feathers. Kneeling beside of their plump, wiggling bodies, he scooped them up with his fingers and set them on his shoulder, where they happily patted their talons as if doing a small dance. "Hunter, these are my birds. I've had them since I was a baby. They don't fly as much as they used to, but they still wake me up with their favorite songs."

As Hunter hesitantly reached out to stroke Pavarotti's ruffled feathers, the door swung open and then smacked shut again. His _père_ appeared in the doorway, calling for the birds to come in so they could eat their dinner, before he noticed the two larger figures standing in the grass. "Archer!" He chirped, balling up fistfuls of his skirt as he skittered down the steps and onto the walkway. When he remembered that his feet were bare and were now scuffed with twigs and crushed nuts left behind by squirrels, he frowned down at them, and then perked his head back up, a gracious smile popping his dimples onto his cheeks. "You're Hunter, aren't you?" Before Hunter had a chance to reply, his _père_ swept over to him, moving as light as a butterfly being carried in a breeze. He placed his hands at Hunter's shoulders, looking him over fondly. "Archer told me you were coming over for dinner tonight, so I fixed something special. I do hope you like parmesan lasagna… and for dessert a cherry cobbler."

"It sounds great, _Père._" Archer put in, plucking his birds off of his shoulder and handing them over to his _père,_ who cupped them in his hands, cooing to them that he had their dinner already prepared when they twittered up at him. "Where are Daddy and Uncle Keegan?"

They followed his _père_ inside, Archer unceremoniously dropping his bag to the floor before he went after his _père_ to the kitchen. He could smell the herby lasagna melting and simmering in the oven, and his stomach rumbled impatiently. He didn't know how he would go a whole week without a meal prepared by his _père._ After he deposited the birds at their food bowls, which they dunked their heads into, his _père_ swished over to the oven, carefully pulling the door open so he could check the pan of bubbling cheese and sizzling tomatoes. "Your uncle is upstairs… I think he is reading a book that I told him he should. It was wonderful, darling… one of those fairytales about witches and ogres and knights. He should be down soon. Your dad is finishing up paperwork—"

"Just finished." Someone corrected, and Archer looked up at his daddy, who came around the corner of the hallway. He set a pile of papers down on the counter, then immediately reached out to snatch his husband up, pressing kisses all over his smiling lips. "I don't know what smells better, that lasagna or this new perfume." His _père_ throatily giggled at his husband's teasing, his cheeks tinting a pale pink, and then he murmured something that Archer couldn't hear. His daddy's head instantly snapped up from where it had been resting on his husband's shoulder, mouth already firm and eyes narrowed to thin slits. Archer could almost see the way that the two men were sizing each other up, his daddy taking in every detail of Hunter's stance, which was a little closer than Archer would have preferred it to be, at least for this situation, while Hunter maintained a calm demeanor, his face giving nothing away. Archer rolled his eyes, feeling like he was watching one of those ridiculous stand offs between two rowdy cowboys who had somehow insulted each other's masculine pride.

When he figured out that neither was going to say anything, Archer put in with an exasperated sigh, "Daddy, you remember Hunter. He was at the dinner that Grandpa and Grandma put together for us."

"It's nice to see you again." His daddy kept his voice flat, even though Archer could tell that he was just waiting for the first excuse to yell at Hunter to stay away from his pride and joy. "Don't you usually hang out with Dillon?"

Archer answered for Hunter again, "Yes… but he's hanging out with me now." Turning to his _père,_ who was stirring a pot of tomato sauce that he was going to pour over the lasagna, he said in one breath, "_Père,_ I'm going to pack for the trip tomorrow. We'll be up when dinner is ready." Before his daddy could actually start using his eyes as weapons, he quickly pulled Hunter away, taking him out of the kitchen and over to the basement door. He yanked it open, thudding down each step with a little more force than necessary. As soon as they were safely hidden from the scrutinizing eyes of his parents, he turned back to Hunter, who had never looked more put off. "I told you that he was going to be stern with you! He still thinks of me as his little boy, Hunter." Hunter finally lowered his head, watching his bag slide off of his shoulder and plonk to the floor. "You're not upset with him, are you? He's just protective over me. He would be this way with any boy I brought home."

When Hunter lifted his head, he had one brow arched above the rim of his glasses, "He doesn't have reason to be protective, does he?"

Even though the question was very unassuming, Archer immediately understood what Hunter was getting at. "No… he has no reason not to trust me. You, on the other hand, might just be a lost cause for him." Padding across the room, he sat down on the edge of his bed, watching Hunter unzip a pouch of his bag and pull out a handful of socks. "My daddy knows that I'm gay… so he's very strict when it comes to me being around men. But… I've never had a boyfriend before. This is the first time I've ever brought a man home."

Hunter gave up on sorting his socks into piles of how long they were, and he glanced up at Archer with an incredulous expression, "You're telling me that you've never had a boyfriend. Not one." When Archer shook his head, Hunter sat down hard on the floor, never turning his gaze away. Archer felt like he could bore holes through him. "Archer… that's almost impossible for me to believe. Men can't not notice you. You said two damned words to me and already had me wrapped around your finger." That comment made Archer crease his forehead, but he made no remark and let Hunter go on. "Is it that… you don't want to have a boyfriend? Or that you've never found anyone who can make you happy enough?"

Archer helplessly shrugged his shoulders, "It's just… never been much of a concern for me. I knew that Daddy would never allow it… and I didn't really know anyone. I've been kept by myself for most of my life. That's why I wanted to come here, to see if I could meet people and make friends. I've never had anything like this." Slumping his back over, he fretfully wrapped his arms around his stomach, which he was suddenly aware of being even more pudgy than it usually was. "And, Hunter… men don't think that I'm anything special to look at. My hair is too frizzy… and I have these awful freckles… and I have crooked teeth… and I'm a little chubby." He flicked his eyes back up to Hunter's face, which was rumpled with something that was between confusion and concern, "You're the only man who's ever expressed any kind of interest. I'm not something that guys can brag about to their friends, or hold proudly on their arms. I'm too outspoken… and I know too much about some of the most pointless things… and I'm not good looking in the least—"

Hunter's mouth pushed to the side of his face, as his knees drew up to his chest, where he wrapped his arms around them to keep them in place. He took a deep, shaky breath, and he slowly shook his head from side to side. And then he whispered something that Archer never thought he would, something about himself, "Archer… I don't know how old I am." Archer made a face at that, his lips parting just few centimeters as a silent gasp exhaled from them. After a moment, he cleared his throat, one hand that was resting on his knee lifting to his chin, where he scratched at his stubble. "I think I'm sixteen… but I could be seventeen, or even eighteen. I just don't know. I think Karofsky forgot over the years… the alcohol did something to his head. A lot of memories have gone away… my birthdate included. I've tried to ask him, but when he's awake, he's too drunk to be coherent, and when he can be coherent, he's usually asleep."

Archer pushed his brows together, sinking his fingers into the carpet as he slowly dropped to the floor, scooting over to where Hunter was sitting. "Is Karofsky your dad?"

Archer was startled when Hunter merely rolled one of his shoulders, "I don't know. I think he is… but I've never called him my dad. I've never thought of him as my dad." His dark head turned toward Archer, who had idly reached down for the main pocket of his bag and had started rifling through his clothes, most of them filthy or torn. "Part of me feels like I had something else… at one time. But… all I can remember is… Karofsky. It's always just been me and him." Suddenly, Hunter made an aggravated sound, and he tore his face away from Archer, glaring down at the bag of clothes. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have said anything."

"No… it's okay." Archer reassured him, placing a hand on his tense arm, which he could feel stretching as Hunter pushed his fist into the dented carpet. "Hunter… I don't mind hearing what… what things are like for you. Not at all." Carefully moving closer to Hunter, he hesitantly laid his arms across his shoulders, linking his hands in between Hunter's collarbones. "Can you just… tell me one more thing?" Hunter carelessly made another shrugging motion, so Archer took that as an okay for him to mumble, "Hunter… why have you never let me see your eyes? You wear these sunglasses… even when you're inside. Why do you hide your eyes?"

Placing one finger on the earpiece of the sunglasses, Archer cautiously slid it a centimeter forward. He was taken aback when Hunter showed no reaction, only cocking his head slightly to the side to make it easier for Archer to pull them off. As if startled by something, Hunter instantly squinted his eyes shut, making Archer panic as he grabbed Hunter's face, trying to figure out what was wrong. "Turn off the light… please." He begged, his voice wavering on the verge of desperation, so Archer immediately lunged to his feet, flipping off the lamp that emitted a dull, golden glow. Hunter made a low sound of relief, and Archer watched with eyes the size of saucers as Hunter shifted the lid on one eye at a time, peeling up the first and showing Archer the lightest yellow, surrounding a thin slit where an expanded pupil should have been. He did the same with the other, and then Archer found himself gaping at a pair of almond eyes, so bright that they almost blinded him, like the sun would.

Hunter's lashes beat his cheeks a few times as he adjusted to the darkness, and then he opened his eyes wide, closing them briefly as Archer crept closer. "Open them." Archer murmured softly, lowering to the floor in front of Hunter once more. "They're so beautiful, Hunter. Why would you want to keep them hidden?" Hunter blinked again, and that was when Archer noticed what seemed to be a glassy film that slid back over his eyes every time he opened and shut them. Furrowing his brows, Archer reached out for Hunter's face, becoming even more bewildered when Hunter didn't flinch, as anyone else would, at the fingertips that were just centimeters from the surfaces of his eyeballs. "Can I touch them?" The question drew a gasp out of Hunter, who suddenly dropped his lids over his yellowish eyes. Archer leaned closer to him, pressing the backs of his fingers to those translucent, twitching lids. His long fans of golden brown lashes quivered against Archer's knuckles. Lowering his voice so he couldn't even hear himself, Archer slid his fingers down to the bags under Hunter's eyes, watching his lids flip up when the pressure was taken off of them. "What is your real eye color?"

The question might have been a little too bold, since Hunter clearly hadn't been admitting to him that he wore contacts when he first showed him his eyes, but the yellow was so obviously fake that Archer felt like he would be duping himself if he didn't take advantage of the fact that he knew that Hunter was lying to him. Hunter didn't seem shocked that he wasn't oblivious to the contacts, and he simply muttered, "They're brown. Dark brown." He blew out heavily on Archer's hands, which had somehow lowered to his cheeks and lips.

"Your hair is, too, isn't it?" Archer asked, not having to see Hunter's nod to know that he was correct.

"My skin isn't naturally this dark, either." Hunter pointed out, lifting his hands as if Archer had never seen them before.

Taking Hunter's hands in his, Archer softly squeezed them, "I think that you would be beautiful even if you weren't hiding yourself." He whispered, pushing himself against Hunter so he could rub his cheek against his. Hunter inhaled sharply, the rush of air like a small gust of wind against the side of Archer's neck. "Hunter?" He peeped, feeling Hunter shift against him, his face nuzzling underneath his soft chin. "Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

A second passed that Hunter didn't reply, and Archer was sure that his supply of answers had run out, and that he had gone back to his thinking that he didn't like questions. But then Archer felt the smallest of nods, and he heard Hunter's hoarse whisper in his ear, "I've had boyfriends and girlfriends. I've had sex with people who I didn't know the names of. I've done things with people that I can't even remember doing because I was so drunk." Hunter's hand came up to his head, pressing against his wild curls, and he dragged his fingers through them. "But I've never, ever been in love." He turned his head to the side, pressing kisses over dark tendrils of hair that clung to his sticky lips, and to the side of his nose, and to his hot cheek, "You're perfect, nosy kitten. _My_ perfect, little kitten." He grabbed Archer's face with both of his hands, turning it toward his, and then all Archer could taste was Hunter and cigarettes. The kiss was warm and open, with tongue sliding and prodding, and teeth scraping. Quiet moans were exchanged in a foreign language that both of them seemed to understand. "My perfect, little Archer." Hunter heaved, and then Archer closed his mouth over his, once again leaving Hunter speechless.


	12. Shooting the Moon

It was early on Friday morning when Archer wheeled his case of luggage downstairs, the bag still half empty to give room for souvenirs that his _père_ insisted he bring home so the rest of the family could see how his trip went, if only his _père_ would believe him that there were no stores in the middle of the forest. The farthest his parents had gone away from the comforts of their home was the middle of the backyard, where they had set up a tent, only to load it down with comforters and sheets and blankets, making it seem as if they weren't actually laying on piles of dirt and grass. Archer himself wasn't very outdoorsy, but unlike either of his parents, he wasn't nearly squeamish enough about picking up a few worms and caking his stubby nails in mud. Archer almost expected more of at least his daddy, who was a very brawny man, but, once, when he was a child, he had asked his daddy if he could spend the night under the stars, only to get a look as if he had asked if he could move to the moon. Despite being so dissimilar in some of the more obvious ways, his parents were nearly the same person in every way that wasn't to be expected.

After a nearly silent dinner ended last night, with only the sounds of forks scraping and plates clattering to make the only conversation that was to be had, Hunter had gone home at a respectful hour, not daring to stay past seven. It was as if he knew that if he put off no vibes that he would in any way be a bad influence on Archer, he would be let off the hook, but what he didn't know was that, as soon as he'd stepped through the doorway, his daddy had swooped down and dug his talons in. To Archer's relief, his parents had let him walk Hunter out the door for a moment of privacy, an act obviously urged by his _père,_ since his daddy hadn't stopped staring at Hunter since the two of them reappeared at the dinner table. And, because he knew that his parents were probably watching through the window, Archer had taken Hunter over to the side of the porch that put them at an angle too far away to be seen. Things had been quiet between them, no words spoken about the upcoming week, or how good the dinner was, but Hunter had simply leaned down and pressed a kiss to Archer's cheek, then whispered for him to have a good night. And, just like that, he was gone, his dark form vanishing through the black sky that hugged around him like a vice of cold air that hung limply, waiting to crush whatever came to it. His daddy didn't even have to flip the porch light on and off, a thought that humored him as he returned inside, his cheeks freshly flushed and his lips snagged on his teeth. It was a look that didn't go unnoticed by his _père,_ who gave him that smirk as if he knew something that no one else did. But Archer had wiped off the buzzing feeling in the nerves that had been touched by that wide, moist mouth, and with a few words to his _père_ about checking over the outfits he had decided on, but still needed advice about, the moment was forgotten.

When he arrived upstairs, his uncle's car was already sitting in the driveway, and he and his daddy were having a discussion about his uncle's work in the car shop. His _père_ was standing at the counter, pouring seed into two bowls that Pavarotti and Everett pecked their beaks at before he even lifted the bag, and his cousin was leaning against the wall, watching him feed the birds. Archer frowned at Dillon, feeling slightly guilty that his plans for this year had ultimately failed, and that he had become closer to Dillon's best friend than he had to Dillon. Since the two other men were chuckling about car engines and mufflers and other things that Archer didn't pay too much mind to, he slowly approached his _père,_ who was still donned in a flowing nightgown that almost looked too pretty to be real. His blondish brown hair was rumpled on top of his head, but despite how exhausted he was to have woken up before the sun did, a smile still creased his lips. "_Père?_" Archer said, his eyes following Pavarotti and Everett's wiggling tails, which stuck straight up in the air as their upper halves dove into the bowls of food.

"Hm?" His _père_ set the bag of food aside, sealing up the top of it. "Oh, good morning, dear." Turning around to face Archer, he opened his arms and enveloped his son tightly in them, then released him and placed his hands on Archer's cheeks. "Your eyes are bright and you have a smile on your lips. Are you excited to be going on the trip?" Archer nodded his head, making his _père_ grin with delight. He clasped his hands in front of him, then called for his husband. "Blaine, love? Archer is up."

Quickly finishing the conversation, his daddy turned his head over to his _père._ Archer couldn't have missed the affectionate look he gave his husband before he gave his attention to Archer. A wide smile pulled at his lips, and he left his brother-in-law's side so he could walk over to Archer. "Are you ready to head out, sweetheart?" While his uncle came over to grab the bag, his daddy wrapped him in his strong arms, placing a dry kiss on Archer's cheekbone. "Be safe. Call whenever you need us." Archer bobbed his chin, wondering what his daddy meant by what he first said. He assumed that it had everything to do with Hunter and a little less to do with him watching his feet so he didn't trip over any twigs. "We love you."

His _père_ made a sound of agreement, draping a light hand across Archer's shoulder and rubbing, "We love you very much. We'll see you in a week, darling. Have a good time with your cousin and your other friends." Letting Archer go when his uncle nodded for him to step away from them, his parents stood back as Archer turned away, going to his cousin's side. The two of them followed his uncle out the front door, and Archer glanced back one last time before Dillon shut it behind them.

It took him a minute to realize that Dillon was speaking, and when he heard the noises of his voice coming up his throat, he looked over at him, blinking his blank eyes. "It's going to be so great. We can stay up late every night. We'll toast marshmallows. We'll tell scary stories—" Dillon's idea of what would be fun over a camping trip certainly wasn't the same as Archer's.

Chuckling at his eager son, Dillon's dad opened the back door of his car, pushing Archer's bag in beside of Dillon's. "Whatever you do, boys, don't do anything I probably would have done on this trip." He stepped around to the front of the car, lowering into the driver's seat as the boys hauled themselves in with the rest of the luggage and the girls.

The drive over to the school was accompanied by the quiet tunes of the radio, most of them drowned out by Dillon yelping out new ideas of what they could do to have a good time over the next week. Archer didn't put in any comments, since, as soon as he got out of the car, he intended to seek out Hunter, as he promised him he would. Even Dillon had a couple of friends he was already blabbering about hanging out with, but Archer knew that Hunter was completely alone. He had even choked out a question about who Archer would be around for most of the trip. Archer had smiled fondly at the discomfited look on Hunter's face, and he had reached out to touch his knee. When he looked up at him, Archer had teasingly murmured that even though Hunter's snotty remarks sometimes made him want to kill him, they at least gave him something to do for the long hikes that were scheduled at least once a day. Hunter had asked what that thing was that he could do, and Archer had laughed, admitting that he was now up to twenty seven ways that Hunter could die, and that he could probably come up with more.

Just as he expected, the parking lot was jammed with three buses that were bumper to bumper, rocking back and forth as lines of jumping and shouting kids filed onto them. Cars maneuvered around their wide forms, horns honking and fists shaking as parents became increasingly frustrated by the maze. Raising his brows at the mess, Archer started to look back up at his uncle, who was glancing around for a way that he could sneak around the other cars, but something caught the corner of his eye. A dark shadow, which blended in with the dim sky, threw a leg off of his motorcycle, his long hands reaching up to adjust the collar of his shirt. Sitting down on the seat of the bike, he reached into the bag that was hanging from his shoulder, digging out a small box. He flipped up the top of it, pulling out a slim stick and a red object that Archer couldn't identify. Suddenly, his features were illuminated by a flickering light as he sparked the end of his cigarette into tiny, burning bits of dust. He lifted the cig to his mouth, pressing it between his tight lips, and took a long inhale. A flume of smoke released from his nostrils and the corners of his mouth.

"Hunter." Archer whispered, the first word he'd said in more than twenty minutes. That got the attention of his cousin, who had been twisted around to his own window and peering at the herds of students that darted over to the buses, seeking warmth for hands that were stuck into pockets and ears that poked out from under hats. "Hunter!" Reaching down for his door handle, Archer let himself out of the car, hearing a call from his uncle to sit still until they were parked. "Hunter!" He tried again, picking up his pace when that blond head whipped around to him, cigarette limply hanging from his mouth, forgotten. Realizing who was clomping over to him, Hunter immediately jerked the cigarette away from his face, just barely having time to stub it out before Archer crashed into him. They became a knot of tangled limbs and laughter as Hunter slid his arms around him, instantly working to tame Archer's windblown curls. "You came. You're here. I almost didn't believe that you would—"

Hunter smirked down at him, pulling him closer when Archer's heaving body calmed, and the cold air settled in, making him shudder. "You're always surprised to see me, little kitten. Why do you never trust that I'll be wherever you want me to be? I gave you my word, sweetheart, and that's something I never break." Stepping back into a line of darkness that stretched out of the base of a telephone pole, Hunter touched Archer's chin with the tips of his fingers, tilting his face up so he didn't have to bend so far to reach it. His chapped lips descended firmly onto Archer's, kissing him so deeply that Archer whimpered at the spread of heat on the lower half of his face. Hunter chuckled throatily, nudging one more kiss onto Archer's lips before he drew away, "How could I not have come when I knew that these lips were waiting to be warmed?"

He pinched Archer's chin between his fingers, rubbing his thumb against his soft jaw. Even though the tip of his nose felt like an icicle protruding from his face, he felt his cheeks color from the warmth that Hunter pressed into them. "I like getting good morning kisses from you, kitten." He muttered lowly, making Archer release a light titter that was carried away by a strong breeze. His heavy hair blew across his face, but Hunter quickly pushed it back into place, reaching down with his other hand for the hood of his sweatshirt. "Cover this poor hair, you naïve, precious one. You'll make it knotted."

Archer frowned up at Hunter's attentive expression as he focused on running his fingers through the curls that had already twisted around each other, "I should cut my hair. It's such a mess—"

"Don't." Hunter's voice was flat, one of his hands twirling a lock of black hair around it. "If you cut a single strand of this hair, I will wring your neck." Raising his hands to the top of Archer's head, he pressed his palms so firmly against his hood, pinning it in place. "Your hair is beautiful. Don't speak of it like it's not." He ducked his head, smacking a fiery kiss to his lips, which peeled apart as a quiet noise whined through them. And then Hunter stepped back, leaving Archer with nothing to hold but an armful of air. Opening his eyes, he saw Hunter wipe his face clear of all of the emotion that he had showed Archer, replacing it with a sardonic smirk that he gave to Dillon. Archer stared at Hunter with a pair of huge eyes, wondering how long he'd been putting on the façade that he was just a sarcastic ass with no weak side to him that let him be vulnerable enough to speak of hair like it was a valuable jewel.

Dillon gave both of them a strange look, and then said nothing about what he assumed he had just witnessed, obviously because he didn't expect it to be true. Instead, he shrugged a shoulder in the general direction of the buses. "Guys, the buses are about to fill up. Let's get the good seats that are left."

Archer breathed out heavily, speaking only when he knew his voice wouldn't shake, "There are good seats on a bus?" Hunter reached back for him, grabbing the hem of his shirt and pulling him to his side. He walked him over to the buses, where Dillon had left their bags to be loaded into the underneath storage compartment. The first two buses had already been packed with kids, so they were left with the third one, which was luckily half empty. Dillon stepped on first, instantly hurrying down the narrow aisle so he could get to an open seat beside of one of his friends from the other English class. Hunter nudged Archer up next, and Archer cautiously walked between the seats, careful not to trip over any feet or bump his hips into the swinging legs of kids who kept turning this way and that.

Most of the seats around Dillon had kids already shoved into them, so Archer had to go farther back, and he stopped at a seat that was five rows away from his cousin. He lowered onto the discolored, ripped cushion, watching Hunter sit down beside of him and put his knees against the seat in front of them. Nervously squirming when he realized that, for the next two hours, he would be squished against Hunter, Archer turned his head to the side, gazing out at the kids that were still lined up outside, and then to the cars that were trying to swerve around them. Suddenly, though, a warm hand came to the side of his head, and he twisted back around to Hunter, whose face was so close to his that he didn't have a moment to take a breath at how awestruck he was by how gorgeous Hunter was before a wide mouth brushed over his. Sighing, Archer automatically wrapped his arms around Hunter's neck, his eyes falling shut.

Hunter pulled back with a soft pop, but left his face near Archer's, the tips of their noses touching. "What do you call a kiss like that?" Archer asked, peeling his lids up. Even though a pair of dark sunglasses covered them, he knew that the brightest yellow of eyes were gazing into his ocean blue eyes.

Smirking, Hunter leaned closer to him, his strong arms winding around him and tugging him so close that Archer was nearly draped entirely across his wide chest. "I call that kind of kiss a defiance of my self-control. These lips of yours make me more of a man than I would like to be." He touched Archer's bottom lip, slipping his fingers into the crease between the thin, pink lines. Archer opened his mouth, feeling a smooth nail tap a small tooth. "Go to sleep, my beautiful, frizzy haired kitten. I'll hold you until we get there."

Giving in to his body's exhaustion, since it had never risen so early, Archer draped his loose arms around Hunter's neck. He collapsed over his sturdy body, his head tucking under his chin. The crown of it brushed against the softest part on his body, the underneath of his jaw. He swallowed, the movement making his head twitch against Hunter's neck. His engrained stubble scratched Archer's scalp. "Hold me after we're there." His voice was slurred, but Hunter seemed to understand, because the last thing that Archer remembered before he dozed off was that deep chuckle, making his chest rumble against Archer's. Hunter's arms tightened around Archer, and even after Archer's mind left the real Hunter, he was still there, dancing around inside of his head.

* * *

><p>Archer grumbled at the feeling of something moving his hair, his head sliding down against the hard thing it was pressed against to get away from the thing that was pushing his ragged locks off of his face. He felt a huff of air hit his cheek when someone snorted, the mouth that the sound came from following him down to where he nestled into the warm hollow of a smooth throat. "Archer… my pretty sweetheart, it's time to wake up. Lift your head, my sleepy kitten. I need to wipe the slobber off of my neck." A pair of lips smeared kisses over his locks of hair, which had poked out of the hood that was slipping off of his head. When his eyelids fluttered up, he glanced around with a pair of crusty eyes. His clenched fists lifted to his face, rubbing away the flakes of crud, until a strong grip wrapped around his wrists, pulling them back down. "Don't make your eyes puffy. Look out the window. We're here."<p>

While he turned his head to peer out the window, a gentle finger swept over one eyelid at a time, removing what was left of the clear film that made his vision fuzzy. Archer blinked at the sunshine that climbed through the window, reflecting off of transparent leaves that hung from trees that towered over them. The ground was nothing but dirt, with patches of grass and damp mud, clumped together to make small balls of brown. Peeking out from under the consuming shadow of a tree was a single flower, a yellow tulip that floated just above a shimmering puddle. "How pretty." Archer whispered, whipping back around when someone let out an enthusiastic yelp that echoed sharply in his ears. Hunter frowned, lifting his hand to one of Archer's ear and tracing the earlobe.

Suddenly, near the front of the bus, the door swung open, a creaking sound that was harsh on his sensitive ears. As some of the kids started rising to their feet, their arms stretching to the ceiling of the bus and their necks popping from side to side, Lumbly clambered onto the steps, his ruffled head appearing above the front seat. "Line up outside! Single file!" Some of the kids groaned at his bellowing voice, but, without another word, Lumbly turned away and marched off, already barking at some of the boys who had rowdily started pushing each other.

Hunter shook his head at their teacher, slowly moving away from Archer and pulling himself to his feet. He reached down for Archer, urging him up, and he smiled when Archer plunked his head to his chest once more, still too drained to move a muscle. "You should be glad that you're so tired, little one. If you fall asleep before I do, I won't be able to ravish you. I'd be laughing too hard at your snoring."

Curling his upper lip, Archer unhappily smacked Hunter across the chest, "I do not snore!" Hunter chuckled at that, easing Archer out of the seat and pulling him along behind him. They hooked their fingers through each other's so they couldn't get separated in the restless crowd outside of the bus, all of them kicking dirt up or just kicking each other.

Lumbly went on to say something about how they were going to take a tour of the grounds while the bags were being unloaded, but his voice became smaller and smaller as he started walking, too many feet ahead and too many whispered conversations nearer to them for him to be heard. Hunter put his hand at Archer's waist, slowly walking along beside of him with his head straight forward, never turning it to see the greenery on the border of the smashed down pathway, like Archer did. After a few minutes of wandering after their chattering classmates, Hunter suddenly yanked away from Archer, pushing himself out of the stream of students. No one noticed his absence, but Archer abruptly came to a halt, nearly making a girl bump into him. She sneered at him, pushing around him so she could get back to her friends, who she quietly complained to as they gave him dirty looks.

Raising a brow at Hunter, who stepped over the invisible boundary of where they were allowed to go by placing his foot on a patch of weeds, Archer went after him, hesitantly shuffling his feet into the wild tangles of grass and twigs. "Hunter." He said, getting Hunter to glance back at him for a brief moment before he continued on, his hands reaching out in front of him as he felt out the makeshift pathway. "Where are you going? Hunter." Stumbling over a log that was half buried under a mound of dirt, Archer gasped when Hunter suddenly whipped around, grabbing onto his arm. He tugged him back to his side, going a few steps farther before he held his hand out for something. He rubbed his hand along the rough bark of a tree trunk, and then he left Archer once more, pacing around the tree as if to measure it. "We're not supposed to be here. We could get lost."

Widening his eyes when Hunter sprang up like a monkey, his nails digging into the bark, Archer took a step back, watching him writhe up the tree until he reached the first branch. He sat down hard on it, a playful smirk breezing over his lips. "I'm good with directions, sweetheart. I'm not going to let you go anywhere." Sliding to the edge of the branch, Hunter bent forward, extending a hand toward Archer. "I'd rather figure this place out on my own. You can go with the group, kitten… but I think you'd like my company much better than you would theirs." Archer cocked a brow at Hunter's hand, reluctantly placing his own in it. He squeaked when he was easily lifted from the ground, his limp body swung around onto Hunter's lap and plopped into the middle of it. Breathlessly laughing, he wrapped his arms around his neck, clinging to him so he didn't slide off of him.

"You can't keep surprising me." Archer reprimanded, feeling himself be shifted closer to Hunter, whose arms slid around his waist. "When will you figure out that I don't like climbing things?" Suddenly, Hunter loosened his grip, making Archer inhale sharply as his thighs started to slip against Hunter's. Hunter laughed, returning his strong hands to Archer's lower back and leg.

"I've got you, baby. You have to know that you can trust me." Pulling Archer closer to himself, he smacked a quick kiss across his lips, "You should like me better than that damned group… even if I do take you out of your comfort zone. I can give you kisses, while if any one of them ever tried to touch these perfect lips of yours, I would take them up a tree and then drop them."

Archer giggled, resting his head against Hunter's shoulder, "Hunter, if I didn't know any better, I would think that you are jealous over me." He felt Hunter's lips against his hair, sliding down to the ticklish spot beneath his ear, which made Archer push his head away. "You selfish man… are you going to claim me, but let me have nothing over you?"

Hunter gave him the oddest look, his lips sealing into a thin line, "What do you want, princess? A marriage proposal?"

Shaking his head, Archer shoved Hunter off of him once more when he leaned in for another kiss. "No, I would never accept you." He smiled at Hunter, his teeth biting his bottom lip. "I am your kitten. You should be something to me. Let's see… what are you most like? You're very grumpy, like a bear." Hunter sneered at that, a look that made Archer titter. He was thrilled that he was finally the one doing the frustrating. "You're also very flighty. But… when you do find a place to stay, you never leave it. You are like a bird, Hunter. You're my bird."

Hunter snorted, pushing Archer a few inches off of his lap. "Birds can fly, my pretty one… but kittens can't." He let go of Archer for a brief second that felt like hours, making Archer screech before he was snagged in a pair of arms again, pulled back against Hunter's chest. Outraged, he whirled around, slapping Hunter on his shoulder. He only became more embittered when Hunter laughed harder, raising one of his arms to shield himself. "For a tiny kitten, you have the claws of a cat!"

"Maybe you shouldn't peck where you're not supposed to!" Archer scolded, tumbling over with Hunter when he fell against the trunk of the tree, too worn out to keep fighting. Helplessly laughing at the way he panted, Archer turned his head to the side, pecking a soft kiss to his scratchy jaw. "Get me down, my sharp beaked bird."

Hunter's lips pulled into a lopsided smile, and he reached out to smooth Archer's wild curls. "I think I'll leave you up here, little kitten. It'll give me time to let the scratch marks heal." Swinging one of his legs over the branch, Hunter thrust his body forward as if he was going to leap off, making Archer cry out and tug at him to make him stay until he agreed to take him down with him. But before Hunter dropped, he turned around, folding his arms around Archer and scooting him off of the branch. "I'll get you down, my pesky kitten, but I'm taking you to the lake. I know that cats can't swim." Making sure Archer was secured around him, Hunter flung himself to the ground, and Archer felt himself be dragged behind him, spitting like a cat that had its tail pulled.


	13. The Ghost of You

"Sleepy kitten." Archer sang into the open air, his high pitched voice skipping like the echo of a bell, all the way across the blue surface of the lake. "Close your eyes—" A burbling giggle interrupted the solemn tune of the song when a slender hand felt its way up to his lips, outlining the curve of them as Archer finished weakly, "Not another peep. Hush, and rest your head on my heart. Listen to the thump, thump, thump." He didn't know how it had happened, and he couldn't bring himself to care as he laid in a grassy field with Hunter's head rocking on his chest. A pair of smiling, yellow eyes gazed dotingly up at him, as if Archer had just done the best thing for Hunter. It had all happened so quickly, feeling his body swing back and forth as Hunter tromped through the forest, Archer slung over his shoulder. He remembered hearing himself scream with a mixture of terror and thrill as Hunter hauled his helpless form off of him, swinging him in the direction of the water. With one slip of Hunter's arms, Archer could have ended up crashing into the water, but, at the last second, Hunter whipped around, letting Archer instead collide with a cushiony pillow of flowers.

As Archer tried not to dunk under the swarming petals, Hunter had toppled over onto him, pulling him back up from the depths of the endless pinks and whites and greens. Both of them had chuckled uncontrollably, endlessly happy to be with the other. They had gone about preening each other, Archer wiping smudges of dirt off of Hunter's jacket, while Hunter threaded his fingers through Archer's tangles, stroking them back down. It might have been the warm hand that petted his scalp, or the way Hunter's free hand slid down to his, clasping it between their pointy hips, or how Hunter's glasses slipped off of his nose from the way his head was angled, revealing the gold of boiled honey. Archer's entire world had slowed down when Hunter had opened his mouth over Archer's, giving him a wet kiss that burnt the nerves on the tip of his tongue. After that, sweet nothings and flattering endearments were thought up by brains that were too clouded over to come up with anything of actual consequence.

When the fog had finally cleared, quiet secrets were whispered into ears that flushed when lips brushed against them. Part of Archer knew that it was wrong to give away the most meaningful parts of his life to this untamable and unpredictable man lying beside of him, but at the inquisitive brow and the concerned eyes that Hunter gave him after every hushed murmur that was shared, he knew that he had to be doing more good than he was bad. As Hunter nuzzled against him, eyes closed and lips slightly parted—a look of absolute relaxation—Archer had told him that when he was just a baby, he was adopted from his real parents by the ones that he had now. He told him that his parents had been loving and patient, and that the only thing that they had made Archer regret about his childhood was the way they kept him sealed from the world. Feeling Hunter trace the edge of his jaw with light pecks, he'd admitted to him that he'd been taking musical lessons since he could first read notes, and that he loved the effort his parents put into encouraging his talents, but that he wished that he could have had even one less lesson a day, that way he could have had time to go out to make some friends. But his daddy had too much of a careful eye on him to let him go out of his sight for more than a few minutes. He'd never told Archer what he was so afraid of. The thing that he was most reluctant to reveal, however, was his selfishness in sometimes wanting his parents to be normal people. He didn't want his _père_ to have well-known feet in theatrics, and he didn't want his daddy to have a resounding voice in a powerful record producing company. Because he wasn't that good at dancing, anyway, he couldn't help but think that the colleges pining after him did so to get a good standing with his parents, or that his parents had done some weaseling to get him those scholarships. No matter how easy it would be to just take what he assumed was unrightfully given to him, Archer wanted to work for a career in dancing. His Hunter had failed to dance his way out of his real dad's vice grip, so it was the only way that Archer felt just to honor him.

It was several minutes before either of them spoke, and just when Archer was completely convinced that Hunter must have fallen asleep to the rhythm of Archer's nervously thudding heart—an assumption that he didn't know was for the better or worse yet—Hunter released a heavy breath that warmed the shell of Archer's ear. Following this sigh was a low mumble, so shaky with shame and regret that Hunter could hardly be understood. He'd told Archer that, from a young age, at least in his very early teens, he'd had to be the man of the house, a responsibility he wasn't quite ready to take on. He said that the mind of the man he lived with, Karofsky, had started deteriorating by his thirtieth birthday, a demise provoked both by large doses of alcohol and his grief that his life had come out to be nothing but worthless. When Hunter was twelve years old, he'd walked into his house to find Karofsky sprawled on the floor, passed out and slobbering, as he usually was, but with clammy skin and a feverish forehead. Panicked, Hunter had done what he'd been taught to do and had grabbed for the phone, pressing buttons until he managed to dial for the police, who pulled up moments later and wheeled Karofsky's sagging body away.

Hunter stood back, horrified, until a man had urged him up to the vehicle, letting him ride up front as, behind him, the only father figure he knew was stabilized enough to make it until they got to the hospital. He'd shrugged after that, sadly admitting that he didn't recall everything else that had happened, except that an overly kind man had spent the night sitting in the lobby with him, encouraging him to play with toys he wanted nothing to do with, or to color pictures just for something to take home with him from this awful night he didn't want anything to remember by. Karofsky came home during the middle of the next day, and Hunter later found out that he'd nearly died at some point that night, news he took with clenched fists and gritted teeth. Since that day that Karofsky poisoned himself with alcohol, Hunter had figured out that he couldn't rely on him, so he took it upon himself to wash the dishes and cook the food, and work for any money they could scrape together. He'd never told him what job he had, but he did hesitantly cough out the fact that, if he was given a life in which he could afford the free time to work on the hobbies he had now, he would want to write and paint to make his living. This was news that Archer didn't take lightly, but it was also news that Hunter didn't allow comment on, before he returned to his first story, turning his guilt ridden face away as he grumbled that he wouldn't have cried had Karofsky died.

Now they were here, wound as tightly as springs around each other. Archer realized that it was probably a little ridiculous, and more than that, uncomfortable for Hunter with how firmly he had taken ahold of him, but he couldn't bring himself to release this strangely soothing stranger. Lazily rubbing his lips across the hollow of Hunter's throat, Archer felt him swallow thickly, "Hunter? Do you know anything about your mom?"

Hunter's face remained completely emotionless, which clued Archer in that he didn't care about her either way. Suddenly, he squinted up at the bright light that flashed down at them as the sun peered out from behind a tree, so Archer carefully lifted his head from his chest, grabbing for the glasses that were abandoned by their intertwined legs. After he restored them to Hunter's hand, he pathetically watched him slide them back onto his face, covering the yellow that was more blinding than the sun. Hunter slowly raised up, a supportive arm hooking around Archer's waist when he tipped back with nothing to hold him up but his fistfuls of Hunter's wrinkled, stained shirt. "Um..." He scratched the top of his head, rumpling his spiky hair, "No. I never knew my mom. Karofsky says that she died when I was a baby. He doesn't think I spent any time with her."

Archer ruffled a brow, "But what about the voice that sang the lullaby to you? The beautiful voice you spoke about so highly?"

Hunter's mouth pressed into a thin line, "That wasn't a woman's voice." At the odd look that Archer gave him, he helplessly shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know who sang the lullaby to me. It certainly wasn't my mom. Karofsky said she was sick before I was born. And even if she had the energy, she wouldn't have wanted to put it into me. I believe Karofsky about few things, but this is one of them." Leaning back on his palms, Hunter turned his nose up to the sky, but he didn't seem to be looking at it. "That voice was one of my happiest memories... or maybe I just made it up in my head. It was the prettiest sound... like a bird singing... or a wind chime dinging." Archer stared at Hunter through narrowed eyes as he took a shaky breath, expressing his misery with his current living situations, so he started to reach over to touch the back of his hand, but a rumbling noise from his stomach made him withdraw, embarrassed. Hunter's ears must have been very adept because he turned his head at the sound, his brows raised above the edges of his glasses. "You're hungry... and probably a little tired. I should take you back to the group. I'm sure they'll have prepared something you can eat."

Even though Archer longed to hear more about Hunter's life, as he wasn't sure if this opportunity would ever present itself again, his stomach burbled again, asserting its need for food. "Um... I'm sorry. I am really hungry. I haven't eaten much today."

A slow smile dragged the corners of Hunter's lips up. He sat up from the bedding of grass, unfolding his arms from around Archer. "You don't have to apologize for being a human, Archer. It's one of my favorite things about you." He extended a hand toward Archer, who blinked at it before he placed his in the middle of it. "I should be sorry that I kept you away for so long. I don't want to be the reason you feel discomfort."

Archer let Hunter help him to his feet, and then he bent over to dust off his scuffed knees. "You don't have to be sorry." Lifting his blue gaze to Hunter's lopsidedly smirking face, he giggled lightly, placing his hand in the crook of his arm. "There's no other way I would have rather spent this day. You gave me just what I wanted when I came here!" He flung his other arm out to the side, turning his smiling face up to the white sky. "Freedom to say whatever I want... to be something other than just a dancer. I was just Archer today."

Hunter swung their hands between them, grinning ahead of them. The walk back to the campsite was quiet, filled only with the crackle of twigs and the rustling of leaves. After a few minutes, the smell of logs burning pointed out the correct path back to the group, and moments within that, Archer heard the cackling laughter and booming voices of their classmates. He sighed heavily, dropping his shoulders. His time alone with Hunter had come to an end.

Stepping out from behind a tree, Archer gasped when he was yanked back against Hunter's chest. He grabbed onto his shoulders to keep himself from falling over, as his eyes widened to the size of saucers when Dillon, encased by fiery sparks, came darting by, whooping and shouting as he shook a flaming marshmallow at his screeching sister. Suddenly, he skidded to a stop at the sight of Archer and Hunter, who emerged from the woods, decorated just like the trees. As he looked at them, the smile on his lips withered away. "Hunter?" His eyes flickered between them, making Archer flush at the assuming expression on his face. "Where did you take my cousin? You've been gone all day."

Hunter's smile thinned, "It's a good thing you looked for us... or else we might have never come back." Placing his hand at Dillon's back, he said with a voice as cold as the air in the middle of the night, "Archer needs to eat."

As Hunter drew him away from his slack jawed cousin, Archer twisted around, a panicked look on his face. "Dillon—" he pleaded, but if Dillon responded, the words fell on deaf ears because Hunter took him too far away. "Hunter, please... that's my cousin. He's your best friend-"

"He hasn't been there for you, sweet." Hunter guided Archer over to the table that was stacked with plates and plastic silverware, and burgers that had gone cold. "He was the reason you came, but he's hardly spent a moment looking at you. I didn't know when you were coming... or else I would have been standing at the gate the moment you stepped off of the plane." He firmly took hold of Archer's shoulders, sitting him down at the table. "Eat, kitten. My biggest concern right now is getting food into you."

Archer tried to speak up again, but he cut the words off before they reached his tongue. He hopelessly picked up a burger, gnawing on the soggy bun. "Aren't you hungry?" He asked after he swallowed, furrowing his brows at the funny look on Hunter's face.

"Since I was young, I found out that I couldn't survive humanness. I'm fine." Hunter lowered onto the seat beside of Archer, who stared at him as if he was mad until Hunter lost interest in the conversation, reaching into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes.

Watching Hunter flip the switch on his lighter, Archer chewed another bite, his mouth numb to the bland taste of the burger. He lowered his brows, abruptly reaching over and stealing the cigarette from his lips. The filter warmed his fingers, making him hiss. "Wait... I want you to eat. I won't finish my food until you eat yours." Hunter made an exasperated sound, lazily holding his hand out for the cigarette, only for Archer to toss it to the ground and stomp his foot over it. "You don't need the damned cigarette. You need to eat something."

Nervously leaning away when, annoyed, Hunter bared his top teeth, Archer watched the look drop into an expression of something that Archer could nearly call remorse. Then he blew out heavily, a weary smile pulling at his lips. He reached behind him for one of the burgers, taking a bite out of it and making a face. "No one has ever used my words against me."

Archer hesitantly smiled at Hunter, still uncertain if he had crossed a boundary that he wasn't supposed to. "Hunter, you gave me the ability to be a human today. Through my entire life, all I've felt like is a dancer. Can I not have you as Hunter... a human... a man?"

Slowly shaking his head, Hunter lowered it into Archer's hands when they came to his cheeks. "What else could I be... besides your bird?"

For the rest of their meal, they ate in silence, munching on their burgers. When they finished chewing their last bites, Hunter pitched their plates into a trash bag, then he stretched from the table like a cat. Archer stood with Hunter, taking the hand that he offered him. Coming to Hunter's side when he pulled on him, Archer regretfully watched the students gathered around the sizzling fire, his cousin, who was feeding his sister a toasted marshmallow, squatted among them. With one hand at his sister's mouth, he occupied his other by poking a charred log with a twig. Even though he knew he should have gone back to him so he could plead his case, he turned his back on him.

"Archer." Hunter's deep voice lured him out of his trance, and he snapped his head back over to him, his chin immediately coming into contact with a cool hand. "Don't do what I think you're doing. Dillon isn't being fair to you. He was supposed to look after you... but he left you alone as soon as you got here. I had to be the one to come along and save you—"

Archer jerked his face away from Hunter, "You're treating this like a duty you had to fulfill?" Feeling a wave of shock spread over his body, he reeled backwards when Hunter firmly grasped his shoulders. "You didn't have to be there, Hunter! I would have been fine on my own. And I could have made other friends. I just... haven't yet—"

Hunter's brows lowered, pointing down to the bridge of his nose. His nostrils flared and his lips peeled apart, but he didn't say anything, and instead made a wretched sound. Flinging his hands up, he caught Archer around his neck, a place he hadn't been expecting him to grab and didn't have time to block before those powerful hands had clasped around it, cutting off his air. "You annoying, little liar." Hunter stepped closer to him, and Archer's eyes widened when his heels raised from the ground. He backed him into a hard tree that knocked him breathless. Choking for air, Archer threw his hands up to his shuddering throat as soon as Hunter's hands lowered, clasping Archer's waist. He slid his fingers through the belt loops. "You know that you're not a duty. My only duty is to take care of Karofsky. It was my choice to approach you after dinner... I did it because you were driving me crazy. I have nothing to fulfill with you..." Ignoring the way that Archer quietly scoffed, still pushing to distance himself, Hunter buried his face in his neck, nosing through his thick curls. Archer tried to shove his head away, but a sharp nip to the skin under his earlobe made him cry out, his fingers unwillingly digging into Hunter's scalp. "I didn't have to do anything with you, you nuisance." He breathed, a hot gust of air rushing at Archer's pink cheeks. "I approached you because you're quickly becoming an obsession of mine. In that way, I am human... a man with a pair of lungs. I don't have to breathe... but I want to... so desperately, because I know that I could die if I don't."

Fanning his cheeks with his half lowered lids that batted up and down, Archer slid his hands down to Hunter's neck, fingertips tickled by the light hairs at his nape. He helplessly tilted his head back as Hunter smeared hot, open kisses over his pale skin, sucking and licking, then retracing the dots of saliva with the tip of his tongue. Hunter raised his head from under Archer's jaw, placing his lips on Archer's bottom one and sucking it between them. Suddenly, a supportive arm hooked under his bottom, lifting the trembling lower half of his body from the ground. Archer wrapped his legs around his waist, his back hitting the tree with a thud. "I hate how beautiful you are." Hunter heaved in between kisses, the raspy words drawing a whimper from Archer's moist, bruised lips. "Damn you, Archer. You make me question everything about myself. I don't even know what I'm questioning... Maybe it has to do with my past. Or the way you make my heart beat out of my chest. Or how much I want to kiss every freckle on your skin, and connect them with strands of saliva—"

Archer hushed Hunter by accidentally digging his heels into his ass cheeks, making him groan lowly. "Please." He didn't know what he wanted from Hunter, or why any of this seemed to make sense to him, even though his parents had never spoken to him about what he should think, do, or say if a man pinned him down and smothered him in a pair of damp lips and the sweetest endearments.

Hunter was everywhere, the bittersweet taste of him sticking to his taste buds, the smoky scent of him wafting up his nostrils, and the searing look of his shadowy eyes, masked partially by the tinted shades of his glasses, paralyzing his entire body against his.

He didn't know that Hunter moved until his body lurched, startling him into popping open his eyes as he was deposited on a rocky pile of dirt. "Be still, my kitten." Hunter whispered, holding his hand out as if to comfort Archer as his head turned from side to side. Archer blinked at his surroundings, shuffling closer to Hunter when he realized that they had been swallowed up by the blackness that the towering trees cast down on them. "It's alright, sweetest. I thought I heard footsteps. I didn't want you to be caught like this. I'd ruin you, button."

When Hunter stopped cocking his head to the side, he reached back for Archer, returning him to his side. "Do you see the cabins up ahead, my petal? My vision is worse at night." Archer nodded his head, closing his fingers around Hunter's wrist as he followed him to the darkened cabins. Abandoned in this eerie place with this unpredictably terrifying man, Archer felt his heart start to tremor faster. He had never felt such pain, every nerve quivering and hot, every hair turning cold from the breeze that combed through them. His stomach ached, a glowing fire simmering in his abdomen. Archer moaned so lowly that it sounded like a breath escaping him. He pushed on his boiling stomach, which caught the attention of Hunter, who raised a single brow.

Because no one had been to the cabins, they got the first pick of the cabin farthest to the right, trapped between two tall trees that stared down at it as if to make sure nothing about it would change. Hunter jiggled the squeaky doorknob, coughing at the wall of dust that splattered his face when he shoved into the room. Archer's stomach cramped up tighter at the sight of the black room, highlighted only by the white light that streamed through the brown windows. On the creaky floor was a single dresser, scarred and weathered, that was beside of two beds, which had twenty feet of distance between them.

Archer swallowed, his back crawling at the light touch that scraped over it. "I'm going to get our luggage. You look exhausted. I think some comfortable clothes will help you fall asleep."  
>Even though Archer's body was stinging from the scratches of branches and his clothes were musty from the mist that hung in the forest, the last thing Archer wanted Hunter to do was leave to get him fresh clothes. Shaking his head, Archer turned on his heel, the front of his body bumping Hunter's. Hunter stood as high as a wall, with the strength of one to match, so Archer had to stretch on his toes to wind his arms around his neck. "No." He muttered, raising his chin as he dragged Hunter down to him. The tips of their noses smashed into each other. "You. I want you."<p>

Archer didn't know how Hunter moved so quickly to swing him into his arms, and then carry him over to the bed, his strides too long to be graceful. Landing on the squeaky mattress, Archer opened his arms, a screechy giggle bursting out of him when Hunter tumbled on top of him, nearly making both of them bounce off the bed. Until hours of the night that Archer had stayed up until only for Hunter, just to think of him in memory, he now held him in his arms, exchanging soft kisses and quiet whispers and hushed laughs. Eventually, weariness overcame them and Hunter dropped his head to the pillow, pulling Archer onto his chest, where he was held tight, fingers slipping under the hood of his sweatshirt to rub cool skin until it smarted at the touch, and lips peppering kisses through his messy curls. Even after Hunter floated off to the world that contained his greatest dreams, he was still there, for Archer to stroke and touch and smile at. The last time his Hunter had gone away, Archer had been left with nothing, not even a hand to kiss.

Before his Hunter's death, he hadn't realized that something as simple as taking someone's hand could be so important. Squeezing Hunter's tanned hand between his pudgy fingers, Archer bent over it and kissed it, a soft pop resounding as he pulled his lips up. He left a wet, reflective stain behind. "It's okay. I won't lose sight of you again." He whispered in Hunter's ear, feeling his skin twitch under his warm lips. "The game of hide and seek is over. You can come out of hiding now." Hunter shifted at those words, as if he was somehow listening to his weak voice, and then he turned his head into Archer's shaking hand. A tear slipped from the corner of Archer's swollen eye, splashing onto Hunter's brown skin. He furrowed his brows when the wet spot discolored, the salty water collecting a brownish dirt that it peeled off of Hunter's skin, as if he was wearing a mask. Underneath the splotchy patch was skin the color of sand, the kind that the sun reflected off of, that he loved sinking his toes into because it was so warm. It was the color of sand that was about to be washed off by the rising, blue water.


	14. Blue Jeans

When Archer opened his eyes, the first thing that he thought was that he wasn't sure that he was awake. He felt the same way he did every other time he woke up, groggy and disoriented. The travels between two very different worlds were very long and draining. The only reason he knew that he wasn't staring at the backs of his lids was because he felt them sliding up the surface of his eyeballs. He had never woken up to the blackness that shaded the silhouettes of the killers in those horror movies he used to watch, just to see if he could be scared of the very thing that he himself wanted to kill—at least, one killer in specific. After his flickering eyes snapped over to the only light, dimmed by the dust that caked the window, that shed into the room, he focused on it intently, forcing himself to adjust. As his eyes started making out the outlines of the furniture in the room, his skin took its turn to smart against its surroundings, bumps rising on his flesh, which the cold slowly crept up.

With frosted eyes and shaking lips, Archer turned his head down to his blanket, which was tangled around his legs, his numb feet sticking out from under it. He quickly reached down to smooth it out, dragging it as far up to his neck as he could. But he still couldn't get warm. Wondering where his personal heater had gone off to, Archer flipped his rapidly blinking eyes over to the other bed, which, to his alarm, was empty, and even more worrying, untouched. He started to cry out Hunter's name, when his voice caught in his scratchy throat at the sound of a thump from across the room, near the doorway. Jerking his head in that direction, Archer jumped at the sight of a dark figure standing at the edge of the rays of light that reflected off of the moon and soared through the window. He was illuminated just enough for Archer to see the faintest details of his body, more than Archer had ever seen of Hunter. Even though his lower half was completely covered by the pair of jeans he had worn earlier today, and his feet by dark boots, his jacket was shed to the floor.

Archer swallowed, staring at the crumpled fabric with a pair of huge eyes. He hesitantly lifted his gaze back up to Hunter's torso. Only a stained tank top, so thin that the fabric was nearly translucent, blinded him from Hunter's skin, which he always kept tucked away. Hunter's arms suddenly stretched out to the sides, his toned muscles straining and flexing. His brown skin was completely stripped of hair, giving Archer a clear view of his limbs, so gaunt that Archer could see the bend of his elbow. Another movement caught his attention, and he averted his gaze from those muscular arms, sliding his eyes down to his hands, which grabbed the bottom of the tank top. Archer would have swallowed again, but something swelled in his throat, blocking the saliva from going down. Taking a shaky breath, Archer openly gaped at the shirt as it peeled away from his skin, two small dimples at his lower back appearing, and then a mass expanse of lean muscle and slightly discolored skin.

Narrowing his wide eyes, Archer searched Hunter, from the base of his neck to the line of waist, trying to identify what was so off about the parts of his skin that seemed darker and lighter than the others. But before he could figure out what was so unusual about Hunter's looks, he turned around, bending over to discard his shirt to the floor. Archer's jaw went slack at the sight of his stomach and chest, which were just as tawny and well-built as the back of him. Lines were slit across his stomach, three mountains hovering above thin valleys. Above his stomach were two sharply pointed nipples, a deep red. Archer winced as his lower stomach throbbed uncomfortably, turning his head down to it. At another sound from Hunter, he looked back up at him, watching him toy with a chain that was wrapped around his neck. From how far away he was, Archer couldn't tell what the figure was that dangled off of it.

Hunter released the chain from between his fingers, letting it hit his collarbones, where it swung back and forth. He sighed heavily, lowering his shoulders, and then his yellow eyes suddenly raised to Archer, who hadn't flattened himself to the bed this quickly since he was a young boy and his parents came in to check on him to make sure he wasn't up and about, playing with his toys. His entire body stiffened when Hunter shuffled over to him, nearly dragging his body, as if something was weighing him down. "I'll be back soon, kitten." He whispered to him, and even though he couldn't see him, Archer felt his breath on his face, making him realize that he'd bent over him. Unsure if Hunter knew he was awake, Archer remained perfectly still, hoping that he hadn't been caught ogling him as he undressed. Hunter was quiet for a few minutes, and Archer would have cracked open one eye, believing that he was gone, had it not been for the heavy breaths that puffed onto his face. "You might be the greatest thing that's ever happened to me, Archer. My heart aches whenever I think of you… being with me."

Archer twitched at the light kiss that was bestowed to his forehead, feeling his skin warm at the touch of that wide mouth. When he heard Hunter step back, he peeked through one lid, helplessly watching him walk across the room. With one quick glance over his shoulder as if to make sure that Archer was still okay, Hunter pushed open the door, letting in a cool breeze that made Archer shiver. As soon as it shut behind him, Archer immediately sat up, pushing the covers down to his waist. "Hunter." He said to no one, his eyes growing wide once more. "Where are you going?" Slipping his legs off of the itchy mattress, Archer shuddered at the cold that instantly settled into his bones. Hunter was crazy if he thought he would go outside right now.

Thumping to the floor, he hurried over to his shoes, which he'd abandoned by the door. He stuffed his feet into them, then forgot about his jacket in his rush to get to Hunter before he got too far ahead to be found. "Hunter." He tried again, pushing open the door with a thud. Following the quiet noises of rustling and scratching, Archer gasped at the sight of Hunter as he padded into the woods, undeterred by the tree limbs that whacked his bare chest, or the rushes of wind that breezed by his skin. It was as if he'd been through worse. Archer stumbled to keep up with him, but quickly slowed down when Hunter's head snapped to the left, as if he had sensed Archer trailing after him. For some reason, Archer felt like he was witnessing something he shouldn't.

Archer thought about giving up when he got halfway through the forest, after his shirt had been snagged more than once, and his feet had sank three inches deep in cold, sloshy mud. But Hunter remained just feet ahead of him, close enough to reach out to touch, but far enough that Archer had to stretch to get to him. Finally, a bright light that seeped through the trees and lit the pathway least marred by splotches of water or weeds told Archer that they were getting near the end of the woods. To his relief, Hunter stepped out of the brush at last, and he kept going toward the lake, which shimmered under the white moon, reflecting the silvery appearance that the water took on. Stopping at the last tree before he reached dirt and grass, Archer placed his hands on it, his unblinking eyes studying Hunter, who paused by the edge of the water, which splashed the toes of his boots.

To Archer's surprise, Hunter placed his hands at his hipbones, his fingers hooking into his belt loops. He yanked his pants down an inch, revealing the waist of his dark boxers. Archer's lower half pulsated with an intensity that startled him, and he placed his hand over his abdomen, trying to settle it. The veins beneath his hand pulsed briskly. Hunter pushed his jeans down to his ankles, and then kicked them away. His hands lowered into his boxers, stretching the front of them, and it wasn't seconds before they dropped just as quickly. Archer had never seen a naked man before, so, when he found himself gazing at a pair of firm ass globes, his entire body lurched. Feeling his stomach twist violently, as if he was pained by Hunter's nude body, Archer cried out softly, reaching down for his groin, which burned with a heat like he'd just had a hot ember pressed against it.

His eyes flashed back up when his ears made out the sound of something crashing into the water, and he watched Hunter's feet disappear into the murky lake. A second later, he reemerged, shoving his soaked hair off of his forehead as he spat water. His hands rubbed the water from his face before he gasped for air, and then he was gone again, sinking into the water. "Hunter." Archer whispered, the ache between his thighs suddenly nullified. Feeling himself shake at a gust of wind that swept by him, he wondered if the water would warm his icy skin. He reached up for the collar of his shirt, fingering and tugging at it. When Hunter reappeared, his back toward him as he shook water out of his ears like a dog, Archer made his decision, and he set his hands on the bottom of his shirt.

He undressed himself quickly, wasting no time on fiddling with his clothes, and he threw the offensive articles aside. Completely naked, Archer wrapped his arms around himself, his huge eyes tracing the ripples of water, knowing that Hunter was paddling just below them. Breathless, Archer approached the edge of water, reluctantly poking a single toe in. Warmth spread over his leg, taking away the cold, and Archer suddenly had the insatiable urge to spend forever in this water with Hunter. Sinking deeper into the lake, Archer closed his eyes, sharply gasping as his body lit to flames. He'd never felt this kind of warmth before, like boiling honey that stopped the blood from rushing to his suddenly thoughtless brain. He waded in until the water licked his chin, and then he held still, except for his kicking feet, just soaking in the relaxing liquid that smothered him.

Letting his lashes flutter onto his cheeks, Archer listened to the sounds of crickets chirping, drowning out the sound of water slapping skin. It wasn't until he was knocked under by the force of something hitting him that his peace was shattered, and Archer inhaled sharply, frantically clawing at the surface of water as most of him was plunged under at an angle that didn't let him catch his balance. Screaming, Archer lashed out for anything that he could clutch his hands around, desperate to not spiral down to the bottom of the lake. Even though his daddy taught him how to soar above the surface, he'd never learned what he should do when he went under, too terrified of the unknown, blurry darkness around him to do much but grab for his daddy, who immediately snatched him back up. "Hold onto me!" Someone's booming voice shouted above his screeching, and Archer quickly latched onto the arms that had encased his body, pulling him back up.

When he reemerged, Archer coughed frantically, feeling someone's rough hands stroking his hair off of his face. "It's alright now, Archer." A soft voice assured him, the hands lowering from his wild hair to his cheeks. They held onto his face, making his blurry eyes stare at a dark silhouette. "Don't be scared, sweetheart. I'm right here. I've got you, baby." The hands wrapped around his neck, then slid down his naked back, where they secured themselves at the small of it. "Shh… it's okay." Hunter suddenly floated away from him, and, pathetically watching him quirk a brow at his sniveling face, Archer held his arms out for him when he shook his head from side to side. "What are you doing out here, sweet? You could have been hurt. Do you realize what that would do to me? I should have stayed—"

Archer lowered his gaze to a bead of water that dripped from Hunter's hair, watching it roll over his jutted collar bone to his sharp nipple. Laying his trembling hands on Hunter's shoulders, Archer felt him shudder as he kicked closer to him, their feet bumping before the rest of them pressed together. He gasped at the feeling of a thick, fingerlike muscle brushing against his jiggly thigh. "I went after you." Archer's voice raised an octave when a powerful leg swept through the rushing water, locking around his thighs to draw him even closer. There was only Hunter, the heat radiating from his body, which made the water around them feel lukewarm. "The bed was cold without you in it. I needed you—" Hushing his rambling with a steadying breath, Archer realized that his eyes were fixated on Hunter's shimmering chest, which glowed as white as the dark side of the moon. He blinked, lowering his shaking fingers to Hunter's chest, which he petted with soft, wrinkled fingertips. "You're the same color as me now." Tracing a long, black scar that was woven like a spider web over his skin, Archer felt Hunter shudder, so he drew his hand away, draping it over a piece of flesh not tainted by disfiguration. "You are so beautiful. Why do you have so many scars?"

Hunter pushed back from him, making the water ripple up to Archer's glittering hips. Given a wider view of Hunter's body, Archer flushed, feeling his stomach unraveling. He wasn't sure whether he should feel more excited or nervous. Laying his palms flat on the water, Hunter swished it around, making tiny whirlpools. "There isn't a thing in this world that Karofsky doesn't hate. He would spit on the flowers he grew if he wasn't too drunk to plant them. Just because he thinks I'm his son doesn't make me an exception." Before Archer could say a word, Hunter tilted his head back to the moon. A deep sigh exhaled from him. "Somewhere, Karofsky is looking at the same moon. I don't want to have anything in common with him, but he and I will always have the same sun and the same moon."

Even though he knew it wasn't his place, Archer still waded closer to Hunter, cautiously slow in his movements. Wrapping his arms around Hunter from behind, he nuzzled his lips into his damp hair, whispering softly in his warm ear, "I don't think you're like him, Hunter. You're kind." Hunter's chest rumbled deeply, a purr vibrating from his throat as he tilted his head back onto Archer's shoulder. Archer turned his face into his jaw, pecking soft kisses along the hard edge of it. "The way you've treated me has been so loving. You may not be in love with me… or you may not even love me… but you are a loving man, Hunter. And you're so handsome. You're a little rough around the edges…" Archer suddenly giggled, amused by a thought that came to his mind. "You are like my daddy in that way… but that certainly didn't stop my _père_ from loving him. My _père_ is crazy, though… and I am, too. I got that side of myself from him. And I am just crazy enough to put up with you." Scratching his nails over Hunter's scalp, Archer chuckled quietly, bending to press another kiss to his forehead. "And you are most like my daddy. You're a bullheaded ass sometimes… but then you look at me like there can be nothing else you want in the world. My heart craves for you."

Hunter's firm mouth softened with a smile, and he turned in the water, gently enveloping Archer in the fold of his arms. "I am pathetic, Archer. I'm a lousy excuse for a man. You are precious… your very presence makes me feel alive again. I haven't felt that way in such a long time. Seeing you gives purpose to waking up each day. I know my life isn't going anywhere special, but you're in it now. But as much as I want for you, I know that you, my sweet, are just as imperfect as me. Your tongue is too sharp, and you're too witty for your own good. But it's these flaws that drive me absolutely insane… in the best way possible. It's this curly hair… especially when it's matted and in disarray… and all of these freckles, clustered up on this pale face… and those blue eyes and red lips, which always have a taunting smile… that make me want to kiss every part of you. I don't know if I have the ability to be in love anymore, Archer. I think that was stolen from me a long time ago. I wish I could, though. I would want to be in love with you." Sweetly smiling up at Hunter, Archer flushed at the scrape of his hand over his cheek, cupping the round flesh that turned into a rose in his hand. "But, Archer… I think I love you more than I've ever loved anything else."

Archer pressed himself closer to Hunter, his lids drooping over dreamy eyes. Touching Hunter's collarbone before he slid his hands around to the nape of his neck, Archer idly played in the downy hairs that stood upright at the tickle of his fingertips. "I love you, too." He croaked, his voice deeply throaty. When Hunter's expression changed, his eyes falling shut and his mouth opening, Archer let his head fall back, his curls pricking the surface of the water. A hot mouth touched his, but their kiss was interrupted by low laughter from both of them. Hunter's lips were suddenly everywhere, dragging over his neck, tongue poking out, then returning to his face, where he mapped out the angles of Archer's face, how thin his eyelids were, how wide the bridge of his nose was. "You can touch me, Hunter." He offered, his voice no more than a quiet peep. He whimpered when a leg wedged between both of his, a knee bumping the round sac that dangled between his legs. "It's okay. I want you to."

Groaning, Hunter ducked his head, his open mouth pressing over a red nipple. Archer cried out at the hot flash that shot through his entire body, a grunting noise tearing out of him when Hunter's tongue flicked out, rolling and massaging the nipple. "Hunter—" he gasped, tears filling the corners of his eyes when a firm hand brushed over his cock, which heat was blasting through. Hunter wrapped his hand around the shaft, his thumb pressing onto the slit on his tip, then began slowly caressing, rubbing his palm up and down as his thumb slid back and forth over his leaking tip. "Hunter… what is this—?"

Feeling Archer desperately claw at his back, Hunter immediately stopped his leisurely movements, his hand drawing away, "Is it too much? Are you uncomfortable?"

Shaking his head, Archer placed a hand on his forehead, trying to keep himself still so he didn't make himself dizzy. "I don't know… I don't know, Hunter. I'm frightened. No one has ever touched me before. Should my head be pounding? Should… that… feel so hot?"

A kind smile perked up the corners of Hunter's mouth, "You've never touched yourself?" When Archer vigorously shook his head, Hunter slowly replaced his hand on Archer's cock, sliding his fingers up and down the top of it. Archer shuddered violently, collapsing like a pile of mush against Hunter's body. "It's okay, my love. What you're feeling is normal… and good. I take it you've never been attracted to anyone before?" Archer shook his head again, a movement that made Hunter chuckle lowly. "Your body is just responding to my touch… I'm holding the most sensitive part of you. Tell me if you like how this feels." Suddenly, Hunter pressed down on a vein that throbbed at his touch, making Archer's hips lurch forward as an incoherent sound broke out of him. "Damn you… you're gorgeous like this."

Archer struggled to keep his eyes open, his mind faintly aware of Hunter moving his body around. When he peeled his lids up, he found that Hunter had boosted himself onto the ground at the edge of the lake, and he'd draped Archer, who limply swung over his chest like a flagrant sacrifice, across his muscular, charred thighs. His head lolled against Hunter's strongly beating heart, his vague eyes watching Hunter's hand move much quicker on his cock, sliding up and down. A wet, slick sound popped from under his palm every time he went up to his tip, and then back down, the side of his hand slapping Archer's swollen sac. Whimpering, Archer turned his head into Hunter's chest, his lips rubbing over a pointy nipple. "Mm…" he heard Hunter hum, his heartbeat picking up, "that feels good, baby."

When a drop of clear liquid appeared at Archer's tip, Hunter gathered it on his scratchy finger, spreading it over his base. Suddenly, Hunter lowered his head over Archer's shoulder, his body twisting at an angle that his head could hang just over his cock, which stood upright, greedy for that warm hand. "What are you—?" Archer's slurred voice was too slow to get out the question before Hunter's mouth opened over his tip. Hunter swallowed his cock, lowering his head with a gagging sound. Archer watched with huge eyes as every inch of his cock vanished between Hunter's bruised, puffy lips. Hunter's hand lowered to his sac, cupping the weight and rolling it in his palm. Archer cried out softly, his scratchy voice nearly silent as he lost the ability to think, see, and speak. The only thing he could make out were Hunter's raspy grumbles as he lapped the side of Archer's cock with the flat of his tongue.

Grabbing fistfuls of Hunter's hair in his curled fingers, Archer squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his body spasm. He lost all of the feeling in his limbs, except for the one that was still in Hunter's mouth, which swallowed several times around his cock. Archer realized that a whitish liquid was dribbling from his wet lips, and when he had taken as much as he could, Hunter lifted his head, panting. Blindly reaching for Archer's head, Hunter closed his hands around it, holding him still so he could plant a kiss on his lips. Something sweet and salty, mixed with the permanent taste of cigarettes and Hunter, flooded Archer's mouth when Hunter swept his tongue over his. "I love you." Hunter mumbled, just as breathless as Archer, who was still trying to understand, was. "I love you… I love feeling your naked body. I love the way your thighs clenched around my head when I did something you enjoyed. I loved feeling you come inside of my mouth… I love the taste of you. Damn you, you, sexy little kitten. I have to fight myself on not laying you down right now and plunging into your tight hole. Fuck… I want to come inside of you so badly."

Unable to comprehend what he assumed were some very bold words, Archer quieted Hunter with another press of his lips. "Are you asking me to give myself to you?"

Hunter nodded, his breath slowing down. "I want you. But I'm not going to take what's going to eventually belong to a man in his right mind. You deserve someone better than me, Archer. If tonight is what I'll always have, then I'll keep what I'm feeling right now with me forever—"

"Hush." Archer pecked a kiss to his cheekbone, making him fall silent. He heard him still trying to catch his breath, but the sound of his heart thundering as loudly as a stampede of horses masked his gasping. "Hunter, I don't want to deserve someone else. I don't want to be too good for you. You said it yourself… I'm just as flawed as you are. Can't you just accept that one day I'm going to give you my virginity? I don't know when. I don't want to lose it like this… not out here… but I do want to lose it to you. I love you." Running his fingers through Hunter's spiky hair, Archer watched him fidget with his face, firmly rubbing his hands over his eyes. Archer gently tugged them away, seeing a pair of red rimmed, glassy eyes staring up at him. "I love you, Hunter. This I promise you. I've spent my whole life worrying about the future… tonight, all I want is for you to love me. I want you to kiss me and hold me… and do what you just did… until the sun rises."

Hunter slowly nodded his head, leaning closer to Archer, who closed the distance with a soft kiss. They peeled apart with a pop, a strand of saliva hanging between their mouths. "I can do that. I can spend forever loving you. It's an honor I never got to fulfill before." Archer closed his eyes, feeling Hunter's mouth descend upon his. He never wanted him to lift it again.


	15. Cut to the Quick

The next morning, Archer awoke to the feeling of warmth, spreading from his lips, all the way down to his toes, which he curled into a pile of blanket. Wriggling his body from side to side as something cushiony pushed beneath it, he loosened himself from the sheets that had trapped him, and he slid his arms out from under them. He stretched his arms above his head, shoulders popping and elbows bending, as a loud yawn broke from his wide mouth. Above him, someone chuckled lowly, grabbing both of his wrists in one hand and lowering them to his sides, where they were tucked back under the blankets. "I worked so hard to cover you up. I came in to find you shivering. Appreciate what I do for you, darling." Finishing his yawn with a few smacks of his lips, Archer blinked his big eyes, finding himself gazing up at Hunter's smirking face. "What pretty sounds you're making. I'm such a lucky man."

Helplessly smiling as Hunter lowered onto the edge of the bed, Archer watched him lean across him so he could crease the blankets at his sides. He started to reach up for Hunter's face, but found himself once again stuck. He frowned, giving Hunter a puckered lip when he returned his face to him, his pale yellow eyes gleaming with amusement. "Good morning to you, too, little one. What are you making these whining sounds for?" Hunter scooted off of the bed, his lean back shifting as he stood. In the darkness, he'd been awestruck by his bare skin, but there was nothing more stunning as Hunter's bronzed, muscular body in the daylight.

"Come over here." Archer pleaded, his voice throaty from lack of use. "I want a kiss." Hunter laughed at that, bending over to grab a discarded shirt. He carelessly yanked it over his head, then grabbed a chunk of his hair, ruffling it so it was once again spiked up. Turning back around, Hunter shuffled across the room, lowering his head over Archer's once more. He brushed a light, dry kiss to his mouth, smiling against it. When he pulled up, Archer shifted his hands, freeing himself from the blankets so he could grab for his head. "You taste like cigarettes and coffee—" Making a sour face, Archer puckered up his mouth, "Very bitter coffee."

"Exactly how I like my men." Hunter teased, snorting at the hand that slapped his shoulder. He reached up for Archer's arm, and he hooked two of his fingers around it. "I would have gotten you a cup, but I don't even know if you like coffee."

Sitting up, Archer placed a hand on Hunter's thigh to balance himself as he used his other to rub his stiff nape. He'd never slept on such an uncomfortable bed, as his parents wouldn't have him lay on anything less than a mattress without a single pea under it. "It took me a long time to acquire a taste for coffee… but my _père_ taught me that the best way to drink it is with a spoonful of cream and two lumps of sugar."

Hunter immediately got to his feet, holding onto Archer's hand until he backed away a few steps. Pressing a tender kiss to Archer's knuckles, he let his arm drop back to the bed. "I'll be back with your coffee in a minute." Without another word, Hunter walked away from him, pushing through the door and shutting it behind himself. Smiling after him, Archer shook his head, then busied himself with climbing from the bed. He hissed at the cold that seeped into his bare feet, so he quickly tiptoed over to his luggage, picking out a pile of fresh clothes and a pair of shoes.

As he dressed himself, he glanced down at his skin, which was still red from irritation at the scrape of scratchy cheeks and the nip of sharp teeth. By the time he had yanked on his hoodie and was running his fingers through his knotted hair, the door creaked open once more, and in clunked Hunter's heavy boots. They were stained with streaks of mud, and leaves clung to the toes of them. Archer sniffed in his direction, his nostrils sucking up the sweet scent of milky coffee. "Mm… that smells good. Thank you."

"I have a plate for you, too. I figured you might be hungry." Hunter came over to his side, placing the cup of coffee on the side table, and the plate of food by Archer's hip. Archer looked down at it, his mouth watering at the buttered toast and biscuit, beside of a heap of cheesy potatoes. "Don't worry about scarfing it down… unless you're starved. The others left hours ago for a hike. I didn't wake you because I knew you needed the sleep." His blank eyes watched Archer scoop up a bite of potatoes onto a plastic fork, then let them sink into the black hole of his mouth. "Don't eat everything at once. Take sips in between bites, or else you'll get a stomach ache."

Archer instantly placed his fork on the edge of his plate, replacing his fingers around the lower half of the cup. Draining a few inches of his coffee, he licked the beads of liquid off of his lips. Before he picked up his plate again, he glanced up at Hunter, who had strode away from him. He squatted in front of his duffel bag, and Archer helplessly lowered his eyes to the curve of his ass, squeezed tightly by a pair of pants that looked painted onto his skin. As if he somehow knew what Archer was doing, Hunter snorted lowly, "I thought you were polite, kitten." Flustered, Archer snapped his eyes away, as the skin around them turned a fiery red. "I'll be outside if you need me. I'm going to have a smoke. Come out when you finish your meal." Before he left, he threw Archer a harsh glare, "I want every bite in your stomach, my defiant, little one."

Grabbing the warm biscuit, Archer stuck it between his lips, chewing with a little more force than necessary. Once Hunter was gone, he quickly scraped the rest of the food into his mouth, then scrubbed the crumbs off of his cheeks. He pitched the plate into the trashcan, and then he crossed the room with a few short steps. Pushing the creaking door aside, Archer squinted through the bright light that wavered through the swaying trees. A dark form was highlighted by the rays of the sun, which painted his black jacket white. He smiled at Hunter, who leaned his head back as he puffed smoke at the sky, as if he was trying to make his own cloud. "Hunter." He said quietly, giggling when his blond head turned to the side. Pacing across the rocky ground that only slowed him down a little, Archer jumped onto Hunter's back, his feet swinging limply above the ground while his arms folded around his neck.

Hunter chuckled, placing his free hand on one of Archer's butt cheeks to give him more support. "My cute, little kitten, I thought you said you couldn't climb things." He huffed when Archer wrapped his legs around his waist, making him stagger back a few steps so he didn't lose his balance. Limping over to a nearby tree, he stubbed out his cigarette and dropped it to the ground, then cupped both of Archer's cheeks in his palms, playfully jiggling them. "Lumbly shouldn't bring back the group until it gets time for them to have dinner. What do you want to do today, sweet? I can take you anywhere you want. I took a walk this morning and mapped out most of the area."

Wiggling uncomfortably when he started slipping off of Hunter's back, he screeched when Hunter tossed him over his shoulder as if he was a ragdoll. "You'll drop me!" Archer cried, slapping at Hunter's back. "Put me down!"

Hunter chuckled, hooking an arm around Archer's back as he started toward the forest. "I'm not going to drop you. Your body is too sexy to damage." Grunting when Hunter lightly slapped his bottom, Archer gave in with an exasperated sigh, letting his arms dangle and his head fall against Hunter's shifting back. "Aren't you at all worried about me kidnapping you? If you're going to use those menacing hands to whack at me, you ought to be doing it because I'm taking you into the forest against your will."

"You're kidnapping me?" Archer, unsure of what to think of being taken somewhere that he wasn't sure he could get back from by Hunter, let his mouth fall open. "I've never been kidnapped before. Should I be afraid?"

Laughing, Hunter patted his bottom once more, making Archer swing his legs back and forth in an attempt to kick him. "That's good, sweetheart. Since no one else has taken you for themselves, now I get to do it." Noisily grumbling to himself, Archer stared at the black fabric of Hunter's crinkling shirt, feeling his body shake as Hunter walked farther and farther from the campsite.

Finally, Hunter paused somewhere that Archer couldn't see, since his view was blocked by the back of him, and he gently peeled Archer off of his shoulder. As he was picked up and held away from his body, Archer quietly murmured, "Are we here?" Blinking his big eyes, which had to readjust to the orange lights seeping through the red and brown leaves, Archer gasped at the tall trees that towered so high above his head that he couldn't make out the blue sky. He spun in a slow circle, unable to take in the fact that they were completely encased in crumpled leaves that hung so low that they nearly brushed his ears. Piles of leaves swallowed up his feet, and when he stepped forward, he heard the same crunch that he heard when he was a small child who thought that the most important thing he could do was stomp on every blowing leaf before they could get away. "What is this place? It's amazing. I've never seen trees so tall."

"Over twenty feet." Hunter claimed, his smiling eyes flickering up to the hood of feathery twigs that hovered over them. "I've never met anyone else who could stop and appreciate the height of trees. But the taller ones are better to climb. They put more distance between me and whatever is on the ground." He looked back down at Archer, a laugh breathing through his lips. "I've never told anyone that my hiding spot is up in a tree. If you rat me out to someone else—"

"I know. I know." Rolling his eyes, Archer placed his hands on his hips. "You'll wring my neck. You know what I think? You're a lot of bark and no bite." He teasingly smirked at Hunter, who made a face as if he was offended, and then he screeched and backed away when Hunter stepped toward him. Stumbling over a branch that was sticking up from a pile of leaves, Archer tumbled backwards, plopping onto his bottom with a low thud. At the low chuckle that Hunter let out, he sneered up at him, picking up a handful of leaves and flinging them at him. "Get down here!"

"You're so clumsy for a dancer." Hunter remarked, making Archer thrust his hand out in one last slapping motion before Hunter threw himself down beside of him. Without another word, Hunter leaned over to the side, gathering up something that Archer couldn't see. Raising a brow, Archer tried to see past Hunter's broad shoulders, but when he put his face close to his back, he found himself blinded by a sheet of brown. He spat at the pieces of leaf that landed on his lips, making Hunter chuckle lowly before he smacked a kiss to his cheek.

Pushing the leaves from his curls, which they quickly tangled themselves through, Archer lowered his hand when Hunter pulled it away, taking it for himself and placing it on his thigh. Archer gave him a funny face, watching him fall backwards on the itchy bed. Scooting closer to him, he laid his body next to Hunter's, feeling a hard arm envelope his waist and tug him closer. His head thumped Hunter's chest, which beat as strongly as a drum. When Hunter's fingers threaded through his messy curls, Archer closed his eyes, happily burrowing under his soft chin. "Will you ever answer my questions?" He asked suddenly, feeling Hunter's chest rumble with a deep laugh.

"Isn't that a question?" Hunter turned his lips down to Archer's head, speckling it with loving kisses. He snorted at the hand that landed firmly on his chest. "Seven. You can ask me seven questions. Choose wisely, kitten, because there will be no more than that."

Archer sighed heavily, tilting his face up to the underneath of Hunter's jaw. He counted the specks of stubble that were engrained in it. "Hunter… what is it that you're hiding from? Why do you have to stay in trees?"

"Is that one or two questions?" Hunter joked, pinning Archer's hand down before he could use it for violence again. "You said it yourself… I'm a bird. Birds are always safe in trees… I can huddle into the branches and hide myself. Besides… my only enemy is a man who can't climb them. I made a home for myself in trees when I was young."

Smiling into Hunter's shirt, Archer smoothed his hand down his sallow arm, feeling his muscles twitch at the scratch of his fingernails, "I suppose that was two questions… you answered them well, so I'll give you that." He furrowed his brows, raising his head from Hunter's chest so he could meet his eyes. Hunter stared at him blankly, unassuming of the questions that were spinning like wheels inside of Archer's head. He didn't know if Hunter would ever let him ask questions again, so he had to pick the perfect ones that would give him more about Hunter, since he knew very little. "Hunter… you do have a home, don't you? A roof over your head? I know how much you love the trees… but even birds get wet when it rains."

A sad smile pulled at the corners of Hunter's lips, "Something like a home." At the silence that Archer gave him, Hunter picked up his head, a few leaves sticking to his hair. Archer brushed them away, watching them drift to the ground. "My dad has a home. When I was little, I ran away from him. I went into the woods and found a piece of metal that stuck out of the ground. It was an abandoned cellar… Someone lived in it before. It was furnished… barely, but furnished. I thought it was amazing. It was a place I could call my own. I took it over… and now it's mine." Shaking his head, Hunter placed a hand on the top of his head, shoving his hair back. "If you're not too horrified with me, I'll take you there one day."

Archer weakly smiled, "I would love to see something that's yours." He traced a finger over the edge of Hunter's jaw, whispering to him, "I'm not horrified. If it's a place that you can find comfort, I'm more than pleased. But one day I'm going to have a place of my own. I don't know when and I don't know where, but I'll bring you with me. You can stay with me."

A refreshed grin returned to his face, and he plunked his head back to the ground, "I would love that." Arching a single brow at Archer, he encouraged, "Keep asking, sweetheart. This chance will never come up again."

Archer knew exactly what he wanted to ask. "Here's another two. Think you can keep up?" He returned the teasing smirk that Hunter gave him, and he said quietly, "What is it that you paint… and write? I've never seen or read anything."

Hunter's face suddenly became serious, but then he coughed out, "I… paint and write whatever I feel is an important part of my life."

Batting his eyes, Archer stretched closer to his face, putting his nose just above Hunter's. His voice became so soft that he hardy heard himself, "Have you ever painted or written me?"

Hunter tilted a corner of his mouth up, "Maybe once or twice in my journal… about the bruises you've left on my skin with your hands, and the cuts you've made through my heart with this sharp tongue." Archer helplessly giggled, pressing a kiss to his mouth before he went on. "And I might have done even more paintings of you. But what can I say? You're beautiful."

Archer lowered his head so close to Hunter that his curls draped around him, making him look like he was wearing a wig. He laughed brightly, brushing one more kiss over Hunter's mouth, "When? When did you do this? When did you start?"

Hunter's eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion, as his hand raised to Archer's head and cupped the back of it, "The night that we met, I painted you. Your lips, at least… in black and white. I painted the way that they curved, and how they puckered when they touched mine. Your lips are so pretty, Archer." Shyly smiling, Archer bent his head, nipping Hunter's bottom lip with his teeth.

When he pulled his head back up, he cocked an inquisitive brow, "How long have you loved me?"

Hunter's lazily amused expression didn't change, "A long time, sweetheart." His hand lowered to Archer's back, pulling at the hood of his sweatshirt. Archer blushed when the material peeled up from the small of his back. "I've loved someone like you since I was young… but now I have _you._ You're finally here."

Archer placed his mouth over Hunter's smiling lips, "You've been with many, haven't you? So, why me? Why is it that you love me? All we ever do is fight. We don't get along, Hunter. We're far too stubborn… and we're stubborn about all of the wrong things, because we don't agree on anything—"

Hushing Archer with a nudge of his lips, Hunter kept pulling on his sweatshirt, "We disagree on just enough to fight like an old, married couple." After those words, he pulled away from him to give himself room to move Archer's clothes around. A few more tugs of his hands had Archer appearing from his hoodie, ruffled and flushed pink, because it was suddenly daylight and his pale skin was shimmering under the yellow lights that reflected through the leaves. He'd never felt so vulnerable. "Do I get to ask you questions now?"

Archer giggled, fidgeting with the collar of Hunter's shirt, "Not one." He screamed when Hunter rolled him onto his back, and he found himself staring up at his grinning face. "Ask me questions later. For now, just love me."

"You liar." Hunter grunted, reaching down for Archer's pants and hooking his fingers in the waist of them. "You're going to expect me to forget about asking you those questions—"

"You will." Archer said determinedly, flashing one last smile before he closed his lips over Hunter's. "Can you think of anything else when you're kissing me?" Hunter, appalled by Archer's resolve that he could be so weak, started to pull away, but just as his lips popped off of Archer's, they softened and melted over his. "I love you." Shutting his eyes, he looped his arms around Hunter's neck, which lowered over his, closing the distance between them.

"I love you, too." Hunter promised, his lids falling over his yellow eyes, and then flipping up once more when Archer turned his face to the side. "What is it?"

"Could I ask you one more thing?" Archer pleaded, his shaky fingers reaching for Hunter's face and touching the soft skin below Hunter's fluttering eyes. "I've never seen your eyes… when they're brown. Please take out your contacts."

Hunter's brows lowered, and at first Archer thought he was going to reject the request, not that Archer would blame him. He'd asked so much of him already, and hadn't thought that Hunter would answer as easily as he did. But then his trembling hands lifted to his face, and he scrubbed at the corner of one of his eyes. Suddenly, a thin sliver peeled out of it, sticking to the tip of his finger. Before he opened that eye, he did the same to the other, and then he blinked his eyes rapidly. Reluctantly opening them, Hunter showed him a pair of coffee brown eyes, speckled with flakes of gold, so vivid and reflective that Archer inhaled sharply. He never thought he'd seen true beauty. "Maybe one day I'll show you my real hair and skin." He muttered, heaving a chuckle when Archer's arms flew around him, hugging him tightly.

"Hunter, you're gorgeous!" Archer cried, laughing with Hunter until their eyes, one pair blue and the other brown, were streaming with tears, of joy and of pain.


	16. Blank Space

It was late at night when Hunter stepped out of the splintery doorway, his bare, cracked feet brushing the sandy ground and collecting bits of dirt that dug grooves into the balls of his heels. He could only assume that it was dark out because not one streak of light gave him an image of silhouettes. All he had was darkness and his own thoughts, which was why he decided to slip outside for a cigarette. That and his shoulders had started cramping under the pressure of Archer's limp body resting on his, as it had been since he'd dozed off hours ago, exhausted from all of their endeavors. Hunter took a drag on his cig, turning his head when Archer made a mumbling sound, the crinkle of pillows and the rustle of blankets heightened to his sensitive hearing. He was about to stub his smoke out and ask if Archer was okay, if he needed him to come back—which he would gladly do, if only he could sit in a slightly different way—but the burbling and shifting limbs quieted, and Hunter realized that all was fine with the peacefully snoozing boy.

Shutting the door behind himself, Hunter worked on the buttons of his shirt, closing them up until they came to the middle of his chest. He put the cig back up to his lips, pinching it between them as he finished his buttons. When his shirt was straightened out, he placed his fingers around the stick, drawing it out so he could blow out the smoke that had billowed from the roof of his mouth down to his tongue. He flicked away some of the burning chars, then rolled his eyes, dropping the rest of the simmering stick to the ground, where he stomped it out. Suddenly aware of someone's presence approaching him, before he even heard the light footsteps creeping over the crunching leaves, he whipped around, holding up a hand in an automatic reaction to slap whoever it was away. "You wasted a good cigarette." Hunter lowered his hand at the sound of his girlfriend's mocking voice.

"I'm trying to quit." Hunter admitted, his voice no more than a low growl. Sneering at the brush of her hand against his shoulder, he shrugged away from her. "I got into smoking because you convinced me that it would make me sexier to you or something. I can't keep buying these packs. My dad and I need to save every penny."

He frowned at her sharp laugh, "Look who cares now." He could almost see her roll her eyes, and was glad that he couldn't. "What are you doing, Hunter? Are you doing this to spite me? I see the way you look at my cousin. You _can't_ find him attractive. He's daddy's little virgin, you know—"

"And you're a vindictive bitch." Hunter closed his eyes, inhaling through his nostrils when her oval nails scraped over his collarbone, which stuck out over the top of his shirt. "You think too highly of yourself. My relationship to Archer has nothing to do with you." Curling his lip, he felt his chest rumble when she let out a high pitched giggle. "You're too much like your mom. His parents are good to him. They have reason not to like me… and as much as I want them to, I might even rather they didn't. At least they protect him and keep him safe. One of us needs to not be fucked up in the head."

"Do you really think this is going anywhere?" She rebuffed, the skepticism threaded through her voice like a pointed needle causing him pause. It was like her chilled tone had frozen him, because he suddenly couldn't twitch a muscle. He felt her thin arms wind around his neck, her small head coming to the place between his shoulder blades. "Do you believe that you're going to grow old with him? Settle down and marry him? Archer isn't the dating type, Hunter… His dad wouldn't let him, first of all, but it's also just him. He's too focused on his future to be distracted by flighty boys. He'll expect certainty from you. I don't think you could handle it, Hunter. The longest time you've stayed with someone has been with me, and I know why. You like that I'll come to you when you need someone to get high with."

"You know less about me than you're giving yourself credit for." Hunter muttered, trying to appear unbothered by her vicious words that actually struck him hard enough to make his skin crawl. "Do you know that I've never painted you, Beth?" Opening his eyes, he turned his head to the side as his hands raised to her arms, plucking them off of him. "I haven't written about you. I barely think about you. Now get out of here before you break down in front of me because my words did hurt you."

By the wavering of her voice, he could tell that he had at least wounded her pride. "You're not going to love him, Hunter. I don't think you have it in you. When you figure out that he's too good for you, come find me, okay? Archer's a dancer… he has large sums of scholarships. He's going to travel the world one day. He'll be on stage. And where will you be? Taking care of your drunkard dad. When you figure out that he's not right for you, come back to me. There's no one more like you than me, Hunter."

Shaking his head as he heard her shuffling away, her unbalanced feet rocking over the uneven ground, he glanced over his shoulder at the silent cabin. His stomach rolled uncomfortably as he thought of the boy inside of that room, the only person he'd ever come to love, besides those memories that he wasn't sure were real. Archer wasn't something he was guaranteed, or even had a privilege to. If he was smart, he would get away from him as quickly as he could. But, for some reason, Hunter knew that he wouldn't. Beth was right that Archer wouldn't be around one day. If Hunter was lucky, when that day came, his dad would have already been so far in his cups that he croaked, and then he would be free to go wherever he wanted to. He didn't know where that would be, but he had to force himself to admit that it wouldn't be with Archer. If he wanted to call what they had anything, he would say that it was first love, foolish and often short lived, something to simply wet Archer's feet so he could be prepared for when his real prince came galloping in on a horse and swooped him up. Hunter wasn't meant to be with Archer, but, for now, he would take what he could get. And if he had to let go of what was certain, he would do it. Hunter didn't need stability in his life. He'd taught himself how to adjust from a young age.

Spinning around on his heel, Hunter called into the endless darkness, "Beth?" He took a few steps forward, his wide eyes flickering around for the thinnest line of light that would give him the ability to make out her moving form. Reaching out, Hunter grabbed onto something cool and paper thin, which he realized was her pale skin. She didn't say anything, but he knew that he had found her. "Beth… I can't."

"Can't what?" She yanked her wrist from his hand, so he moved closer to her, making sure she couldn't get away.

He shook his head again, his mouth falling open before the words came out. "I can't… can't come find you. If Archer needs me to settle down with him… at least for now… I can't be dating around. He needs me to only be his. I can't do this with you anymore—"

"You're ending this with me?"

"We never started, Beth." He informed her, his lilting voice revealing the lack of nerve that he had. "We called each other boyfriend and girlfriend, but, Beth, all we ever did was sleep around and smoke together. You don't know a damned thing about me. I don't know anything about you. I don't love you, and you don't love me." When she didn't say anything for a few seconds, he quieted his voice, which came out even weaker. "I love him, Beth. I don't know if I'll ever be in love with him, you're right… but I love him with every part of myself. I can't say that gives him much… since I'm ruined… but I want to give him whatever I have to offer, whatever he wants of me. And maybe I'm not good enough for him… but he says that he's flawed, too. And he loves me, anyway."

Obviously offended, Beth spat at him, "I almost feel sorry for you, Hunter. I gave everything I had to you. Was that not good enough? And when he breaks your heart, just know that I probably still would have been there." She stepped away from him, hissing out one last sentence to make sure her point was grounded into his head, "And if Archer doesn't blow you off, just wait until his dad gets a hold of you. He'll take you apart limb by limb."

"I want to prove that I can take care of Archer." Hunter admitted softly, slowing down each word, even though his brain was churning out thoughts and images and sounds that he didn't want. "I've kept myself and my dad alive for years now. I think I can do the same for Archer—"

"There's a difference between living and thriving." She remarked, the last word she put in before she strode away, her steps much longer, so she could get away from him faster.

He stared at the empty air where she once stood, wondering what she looked like before she turned away from him, if her lips were curled, if her blond brows were ruffled. And then he figured that it didn't matter now, so he twisted around, heading back to the cabin. She was probably right, that his life was something to pity, but he almost felt worse for her than she did for him. She was completely alone, with only an incoherent mom to go home to at night. He was in the same situation with his dad, but now he had Archer.

Cracking open the door, Hunter slunk inside, moving his feet from heel to toe to muffle the clunk of them hitting the ground. When the blankets crinkled, he realized that Archer was probably awake, so he picked up his pace, appearing in the streak of light that pierced through the window. The blankets shifted once more, making Hunter certain that he was up and about, so he slowly lowered to the edge of the bed, placing his hands on the Archer shaped lump that was curled under the warm sheets. "Hi, baby." Hunter whispered, leaning his head down so he could press kisses along the curve of his cheek. "I was just outside for a smoke. Are you okay? Are you hungry?"

Archer's small fingers came to his head, pushing into his short spikes. He fiddled idly with the strands, as if he was trying to count each one. "I'm a little hungry. My stomach woke me up." Hunter smiled at that, pressing one last kiss to his thin lips before he raised up again. "I heard your voice. You sounded upset. Who were you talking to?"

Frowning, Hunter placed a hand over Archer's forehead, smoothing his wild curls back. He pushed his mouth to one side of his face. Not wanting to upset Archer by telling him about the former relationship he had with his cousin, a girl known only for how many drugs she smoked and how many men she fucked, Hunter pressed him back onto his pillow, then scooped up a pile of his hair, fanning it over the mattress. "Archer… there's only one thing I want to tell you right now… and that's how much I love you."

He could hear the laughter in Archer's voice, and he suddenly longed to see what the sweet smile on his lips might look like. Archer grabbed both of his hands, playing with his fingers, "I love you, too. Can I please have some food? My stomach is about to gurgle again and I don't want you to hear it."

Hunter laughed lowly, bending his neck down until his head hovered just above Archer's. Suddenly, a tiny nose bumped his as a pair of soft lips brushed his mouth. "I'll bring you back something for dinner." Furrowing his brows at the sound of Archer's light titter, Hunter shut his eyes, pressing his face into Archer's. "I do love you so much, sweetheart. Do you know that, kitten? I'd give up my life for you."

Archer's face instantly scrunched up, "Don't do that. I want you to be here." He suddenly sounded very concerned, his voice ringing like a bell in Hunter's ears. "Promise me you'll always be here?"

Hunter smiled sadly, lowering his voice to a whisper, "I promise to be here as long as I can. I would be here a little more if you stopped sending me out to get you food." That made Archer giggle, a delighted sound that brought the refreshed smile back to Hunter's lips.

"Hurry back." Archer pleaded, reluctantly letting him go as he slipped his body away from him.

"I can't tell if you're saying that because you want me back or because you want the food." Hunter, gently laying Archer's hand on the mattress, joked, and then he turned away, about to head to the door, but a pair of arms suddenly wrapped around his waist, pulling him back. "Archer, love—"

He could almost see those big, blue eyes gazing up at him, shining with adoration and need, "One more minute, please. I need you more than I need food." After Hunter turned back around, Archer snuggled into his jacket, breathing in heavily as if he was trying to memorize the spicy scent of his cologne and the smoky cigarette he'd taken a couple of drags on.

Quirking a corner of his lips, Hunter reached down for the top of his head, stroking a few curls back into place. "As long as you want me, kitten."


	17. The Last Time

Over the past week, Archer had spent endless hours with Hunter, inside of his protective arms, caught in the lee of his thighs, laying on his chest, dancing around the lake as they fought to throw each other in. They laughed until their eyes streamed, and they screamed until their throats burned. But there was nothing better than waking up to Hunter rubbing his shoulders and whispering to him that he got him a plate of breakfast and a cup of coffee, and falling asleep while they were carelessly snickering, too tired to speak of anything of much consequence. He was falling fast for Hunter, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to plunge into the water, but going under hadn't been scary the first time because Hunter had been there to pull him back up.

Now that the time at the campsite was over, Archer wasn't sure what he would do with only being able to see Hunter for a few hours a day. He'd begged him to see him more often, to spend time with him outside of school, and, to his relief, Hunter had leaned over and kissed him, hushing his concerns with one breath that someone needed to be able to quiet his rambling, and it certainly wasn't going to be anyone else. Archer had smiled, flattered that Hunter was such a jealous man over him, and then frowned, realizing that he should be insulted that Hunter thought he worked himself into such fits that he couldn't control himself from babbling about what was causing him to fret so much.

Exhausted after a long and bumpy ride back to the school and then to his house, which was only made better when Hunter had tugged his head to his chest, massaging away his headache, Archer finally stepped out of his uncle's car. He and Hunter had kissed each other goodbye before they got off of the bus, giving each other gentle looks and murmured words about how much one loved the other. Despite the fact that the trip that had brought them together was over, their relationship had just begun, and Archer couldn't have been happier. When he went in through the door, he was instantly greeted by his fluttering _père,_ who squeezed him tightly before wrinkling his nose when he realized how dusty Archer was. After a brief battle over hugging his son or saving his dress, his _père_ had enveloped him tighter, telling him how much he missed him, and how he hoped he had a good time. This was followed by hugs from both his uncle and his daddy, the latter who happily squished his body to his powerful chest.

Once he got the initial gossip out of the way, Archer was finally let go to retreat to his bedroom, where he intended to unpack, and then pick out a pair of warm sweats that he could bundle himself in after he showered away the dirt and filth that seemed to be engrained in his skin. Even though he was more outdoorsy than both of his parents, he could still be as dramatic as they were when it came to being absolutely disgusting. He dragged his suitcase down the stairs, shutting the door behind himself, and, as if it somehow knew that Archer was alone now, his phone started buzzing.

Heaving his suitcase the rest of the way across the room, Archer let it clunk against the door to his closet, then left the unpacking a task to later be handled as he pulled his phone from his pocket, checking the screen. It was just who he knew it would be. Smiling to himself, he went over to his bed and threw himself down, his legs and arms splayed on either side of him as he clicked to answer the call. "We just saw each other not even an hour ago."

"That's my limit." Hunter announced, making Archer giggle at his ceiling.

"I don't think my parents would be okay with that." He reminded him, rolling onto his stomach when the blood started rushing to his head. "I can't talk for long. Daddy will hear. Besides, I need to get my unpacking done, and I have to take a shower. I feel gross. I have twigs in my hair!"

"Your _père_ is a trendsetter, right? You told me that he designs clothes. Maybe you could follow in his footsteps. Everyone could be wearing twigs in their hair by next week." Shaking his head at the ridiculous notion, Archer let out a low laugh, listening to the hum of Hunter's breath as it filtered through the phone. Suddenly, he spoke up again, his voice much quieter, "I won't keep you, baby. I know that you're tired. But… I forgot to say something when I had you face to face, and I can't wait until the weekend is over. My time to ask you is running out—"

"No." Archer teased, a light giggle bubbling from his mouth.

Hunter sounded so confused that he nearly laughed again, "What? I haven't even asked you."

"I assumed you were proposing to me." He admitted, shrugging a shoulder, even though Hunter couldn't see him.

"Don't give yourself a bighead, sweetheart." Hunter muttered sardonically, his voice becoming nothing more than a low grumble. "I wouldn't want to ask you to marry me if you were the last person on earth. What I'm asking you is if…" he trailed off, and Archer heard him swallow thickly. "I was just… I've never been to—" Realizing that Hunter was dumbstruck by whatever he was trying to say to Archer, he felt his mouth fall open, but he himself could make no sounds. If Hunter was flustered, Archer couldn't imagine what he was trying to get at. "I've never been to a school dance… and I know that you haven't, either. I wanted to know if you… would be my date at homecoming."

Even though Archer had always thought that school dances sounded very tacky, his heart still stuttered, so noisily that he didn't hear the door creak open. "Yes." He instantly replied, his voice so cheerful that he nearly blushed. He didn't want Hunter to think that he was too excited. "I want to go with you—"

"Archer?" Someone's voice called from above his head, and Archer, startled, jumped because he hadn't realized that someone had come into his room. "Are you talking to someone?" When Archer couldn't find the voice to respond to his daddy, he grumbled once again, "Honey, I want to see you upstairs in a minute. I need to speak with you about something."

"Okay, Daddy." Archer called after him, listening to the door snap shut once more. For some reason, a feeling of dread filled the pit of his stomach. His daddy had never used that stern tone with him before. Turning back to the forgotten phone, Archer said quickly, "Hunter, my daddy needs me upstairs. Call me later tonight. I love you, okay?" Hunter had just enough time to say those three words back to him before Archer ended the call.

Glancing back up at the ceiling, where he could hear footsteps shuffling around, Archer scooted to the edge of the bed. He straightened himself up before he started up the stairs, small feet thumping up each one quickly enough that he nearly tripped because he missed a step. "Daddy?" He tried, opening the door and finding himself faced with his entire family. They all had solemn faces, except for his _père,_ who was turned so that he could only see part of his cheek. "Daddy, is something wrong?" Archer asked uncertainly, stepping back against his door when his daddy made a frustrated sound, slowly shaking his head from side to side.

"Archer, if what your cousin told me is true, I'm extremely disappointed in you. I wasn't hard on you. I gave you two rules when we came to America. I told you that in order to stay here, you have to keep up on your grades… and you have to be safe." Archer blinked at his daddy, unsure of where he was going with this. "Archer… your cousin told me that over the past week, he's hardly seen you. He said you went off on your own with that boy… Hunter… and that you slept in a cabin with him." Archer's eyes widened to the size of saucers, and he jerked his head over to Dillon, who was pressed so close to the wall that he seemed to be trying to blend in with it. "Don't look at your cousin. He was right to tell me that. Now, Archer… I don't want to be angry with you. I'm not going to yell. I'm just scared… I had no idea you were staying in a cabin with a boy who I didn't know very well. I know that Dillon has been close with him for years, but your uncle has told me about him. He's told me about the drugs he uses, and how he sleeps around."

"Daddy, he wouldn't—" Archer's words came to a screeching halt when his daddy held up his hand.

"Don't tell me what he would and wouldn't do. I don't want to hear it." His daddy lifted a pair of blank eyes to his face, the corners of them slightly wet. "Just tell me that you were safe for the entire week… that nothing happened… and I won't stop you from seeing him." When Archer frantically nodded his head up and down, his daddy did the same motion, then lowered his gaze to the floor. "That's what I thought you'd do. Archer, you're my baby… you've been good for the past sixteen years. I'm trusting that you're not lying to me. If that's the case, you can still be around that boy… but I don't want you to be alone with him again. Do you promise me that you'll try being around your cousins a little more? You can still be around Hunter… but I want you to be with a group of people when you see him. I know that he would probably never hurt you. Your uncles wouldn't let him be their son's best friend if they didn't see some decency in him. But it's just that I don't know for sure, sweetheart. And the last thing that I ever want to happen to you is for some drunk boy to try to take advantage of you. Do you understand why I'm worried about you?"

Drawing his arms into his stomach, Archer lowered his head like a scolded puppy. He wanted to tell his daddy that Hunter was nothing to be afraid of, but he knew there would be no convincing him. If there was a boy involved, especially a boy who didn't have the cleanest of hands, his daddy was going to be protective over him, and probably want to know every going-on. "Yes, Daddy." Archer whispered, hesitantly raising his sad, blue eyes to his daddy's hard face. "Daddy, he's asked me to prom. Just now. He was the one I was talking to. I told him I would go with him. Can he pick me up here and then take me back?"

Even though he could tell that his daddy was inwardly fighting himself by the sour look on his face, his _père_ reached over and touched his arm, whispering something to him. His daddy took a deep breath, and then he nodded, "Tell him that I want you home by midnight." Shaking his head once more, his daddy scrubbed his palm over his frizzy curls. He looked over at his husband with a pair of searching eyes, "Lovely, why don't you help him pick out an outfit? I need to finish some paperwork."

Before Archer could say anything else to his daddy, he fled from the room, leaving Archer with a gaping mouth and wide eyes. "Daddy—" Archer tried, going to follow him, but before he could go very far, his _père_ intercepted him, taking hold of his wrist.

He shook his head at him, tenderly reaching up for a tendril of hair that had swung into Archer's eye. "You didn't upset him, sweetheart. Please don't feel guilty about what happened. He just needs some time to think things over. He's a very caring man… He doesn't want to see you get hurt." He suddenly smiled at Archer, tucking the hair behind his ear. "As if your daddy and I didn't do some of the same things when we your age." Sighing heavily, his _père_ put on his happiest face for Archer, "What beautiful eyes you have… Let's see if I can put something wonderful together that will bring them out even more."

Drawn out of the room with his _père,_ Archer clung to his arm, more than grateful for the peaceful presence his _père _was. Abruptly, though, he turned his head, a knowing look on his face, "I think your daddy isn't willing to admit it. Something did happen over the week, didn't it? There's something different about you. You're holding your head higher." Stopping at the top of the stairs, his _père_ took both of his hands, giving him a gentle smile, "You love him, don't you?"

Archer nodded quickly, "I do… very much. Are you going to tell Daddy?"

His _père_ arched a single brow, "One day, he will find out. He's an incredibly intelligent man… I think part of him already knows. I don't think he's willing to accept it yet… or is ready to hear it. I will give him more time. But I knew that you weren't going to be a child forever. You're sixteen now, Archer. You're mature and confident. You're ready to take on the world. If you want to love this boy, I'm not going to stop you… All I ask is that you make sure he treats you like the amazing person you are. You deserve it."

Incredulous but hopeful, Archer slowly wrapped his arms around his _père,_ "I love you and Daddy so much." He pulled away from him and gave him a funny smile, one that his _père_ returned, as if he already knew. "You knew, from the time you were eighteen, that Daddy was it for you, didn't you?"

His _père_ made a giddy noise, "Is this the boy you can see yourself spending forever with?" When Archer nodded, his _père_ smiled fondly, "I knew that I was meant to be with your daddy long before he was able to admit the same. I have a feeling this boy is the same way? Don't be disheartened, dear… all men go through denial about their feelings. I think it has to do with their pride… they don't like to admit that we can disarm them so easily. It took your daddy nearly three years to accept that we were truly in love with each other. If you want this boy, then he is yours. We Hummel-Andersons have a way of getting what we want. He won't be able to deny you anything."

Archer followed his _père_ into the sewing room, wondering if he had finally found the romance that his parents had, one of driving each other insane, a type of relationship that, after watching his parents for the past thirteen years, he knew was the best kind.


End file.
